Jagged Sword
by Zeltch
Summary: One day, Emiya Shirou dreamed of a world claimed by beasts and madness. He resolved to stay.
1. Chapter 1

Oh man, I have so much stuff lying around my hard-drive waiting to be written and yet it's always tough to properly start it.

A prologue will do for now, I guess. Hopefully this will go places.

Summary: One day, Emiya Shirou dreamed of a world claimed by beasts and madness. He resolved to stay.

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**Chapter 1**

Once again, he woke up to a familiar ceiling.

Brush teeth, wash face, get dressed for school.

He left his room and ghosted through the corridors of the large mansion he grew up in. Quick and without a sound, as he had been taught.

Memories of playing and tinkering, of family, growing up and happiness had been made here.

A cheery greeting came as he entered the dining room. He responded automatically as he slipped into his old apron. He had become good at that.

He talked, joked, socialized, went through motions he barely recognized sometimes. He tried to ignore the frantic way his surrogate sister would engage him in conversation and the lingering, worried looks.

Once the clock was done tickling, he set out to school, onto another day that was more of the same.

The colorful pink of the Sakura trees was dull and the rumbling of cars passing by seemed to come from a mile away. The aftertaste of his expertly cooked breakfast didn't caress his tongue as it once did.

Regardless, the walk there was productive. Strategies and questions - every night brought more of these - coursed through his mind. The mere thought of the battles ahead jolted him awake, and the world around him grew in detail. As if life had been breathed into the colorless palette.

Even if there was nothing to slaughter.

Then, the gates of Homurahara came into view and the spring on his step was gone as reality settled in.

In there, he familiar faces doing familiar things greeted him. People tended to avoid him these days (was it always like this?), but some stuck around. He humored them, out of a sense of obligation born from old friendships if nothing else.

He had said many times he was fine over the last couple of months. None of them ever seemed to buy it, but they never tried to push the issue either. Even so, he resolved again to put a little more effort in this life.

It was strange how they didn't seem to notice - more like realize - they were hanging out with a murderer. A naive person would think you can't tell apart a normal person and a murderer without obvious clues. Signals like a gun, a knife in hand, blood on their clothes, but he had learned how to recognize madness. That glint in the eyes (when they weren't covered), the hunch forward and the quivering hands, shaking with the urge to clench around his throat.

Maybe the insanity of that place hadn't poisoned him yet. He couldn't know for sure.

He used to enjoy this. The normalcy, the closeness, but duty called and made them seem unimportant. He had a promise to keep, after all.

A few hours ago, he had been in a tattered cloak, weapon in hand and no shortage of enemies in front of him to slash. Standing alone, victorious over a hill of corpses that weren't really dead.

He woke up in this sunny world time and time again, where none of these choices had been made. The many battles and the pain he put himself through nothing but distant memories. Like a dream, Yharnam and its tall, Victorian buildings, hunters and beasts vanished. In their absence, he resumed a normal life.

Back to his old surroundings and back to his old obligations. Far away from the withered world claimed by blood-starved monsters. A world where only monsters could thrive.

Maybe it was wrong. Maybe he was insane. It wasn't like he hadn't ever considered that possibility.

Even so, Emiya Shirou longed for the Hunt.


	2. Chapter 2

**You know, hardest thing about writing in a foreign language is the vocabulary. Half of the time I'm just hunting down words to use, like a big, jigsaw puzzle.**

**Anyway, here's the next one. Hopefully, you guys will like it; I was pretty hyped up by the good reception the Prologue had. It's the raw version so I'll probably run some editing later.**

**Chapter 2**

He woke up with cold cobble pressing against his face. As if to greet him, crows cawed in the distance and the pervasive scent of smoke and rot invaded his nostrils.

Groaning, Shirou pushed himself off the ground. As always, the Hunter's Garb was back to its dark, pristine form, as if it hadn't been shredded and wet with blood yesterday. It was heavy, with various layers of animal fur compressing torso, arms and legs. A small, extra protection against dangers worse than the cold.

He stretched his fingers, testing the flexibility of his leather gloves. Then, he patted his garb and pockets. All equipment was where it should be.

"At least it wasn't the sewers this time," he said to no one in particular. That had been a nerve-wracking experience. Humanoid beasts with skeletal limbs groping for him and a mad dash towards the nearest ladder.

At which point a deceptively quick giant pig followed him, hot on his tails.

When he told this story around a campfire and a cloud of incense, Gascoigne and Henryk had laughed at him. They warned slightly too late that hunters were avoiding the sewers until there was enough manpower to clear it.

Yharnam had a tendency to give its inhabitants a dark sense of humor, he had realized.

Shirou rolled his shoulders and stretched his neck side to side, earning a satisfying 'pop'. His limbs thrummed with hidden strength granted by runes he carved into his mind.

Strapped on his back he had the Saw Cleaver, a trick weapon handed to him by Henryk. Its wicked, blood-letting blade glinted under his gaze. Bandages lapped the curved handle and the edge. Fastened to his belt, his Hunter's Pistol lay loaded.

His eyes roamed his surroundings. He was on a bridge – a familiar one. Back a few steps, behind him, there was a flight of stairs that led to Gilbert's house. He'd pay the sickly man a visit later. He had been one of the few to answer his frantic pounding on the doors, back when Shirou had been a newcomer. Tucked safely in their houses, others mocked him for being outside in the night of the hunt, or swung rusty, crooked weapons on his direction.

Up ahead, on the other end of the bridge, two lampposts illuminated the left corners of the street. Gleaming iron coffins were laid out, barricading the doors of the houses. Fresh, nigh-indestructible padlocks winded themselves around the coffins. They guaranteed that what went in, stayed in. Boxes and heavy sacks completed the provisory, but effective defenses.

The Moon hung low amidst the harsh and jagged towers, brilliant and ominous. It seemed to glint brighter in response to his gaze, almost like it was watching him.

An inexplicable sense of dread washed over his body like icy water. Shirou shuddered, shaking off the bizarre sensation and walked down the pathway. He sharpened his senses for incoming threats and groped for his weapon.

That's when a haggard-looking man demolished the boxes from behind and lunged for Shirou,

Eyes wide and heart jumping to his throat, he flung himself back, crashing on the floor. His shaky fingers reached to snatch his pistol.

The man barreled forward, eyes bright with a scarlet, starved glow. The mad glint of a beast. It swung a cleaver of his own, which clanged as it struck where Shirou's head had been a second ago. In his knees, Shirou pulled the trigger and fired three shots, one after the other. His ears rung at the calamitous noises. The beast stopped dead on its tracks by the unnering bullets that struck its chest.

Stalled, but not defeated.

Shirou flung himself up and assumed his stance. His knees were slightly bent and legs shoulder-width apart. He held his weapon in a defensive grip. The beast circled, and Shirou scrutinized it, mirroring its movements. He stepped back and chaotic, gaunt limbs tried to close the distance with a roar. Shirou ducked to the right and swung at the beast's belly, who let out an ear-splitting scream. Immediately, he lurched out of its range and took gulps of air.

His durability was nothing compared to the beasts who had cursed blood flowing through their veins. It was best he didn't push his luck.

It howled and hacked at the air, rusty cleaver hissing, and charged. Shirou hunkered down low and rolled to the right, back almost crashing against a wall. The beast, sensing an opportunity, leaped at him.

"DIE!"

Another roll removed him from the attack radius, and the beast's back was exposed to him.

At that moment, words that Kiritsugu said a long time ago flashed in his mind.

_"Don't treat enemy magi like human beings."_

It wasn't the same. Beasts weren't magi. Although magi were amoral and would do anything to achieve their goals, they weren't mindless monsters. They would sacrifice others, family and even themselves to reach the Root, but they wouldn't kill out of bloodlust and madness. Still, the principle applied to this situation.

Despite never leaving him any words on what it meant to be a Hero of Justice, Emiya Shirou knew it in his heart.

After experiencing Yharnam's horrors, it was obvious that a hero should be capable of slaying monsters.

His weapon unfurled to its second form, fully extended and cleaver gleaming wickedly. Twisting his foot and synchronizing the motions of hips and shoulder, he stabbed forward, like Gascoigne had taught him. The sound of squelching blood melded with a loud crunch of bone. The cleaver skewered the beast, who fell to its knees with a trembling gasp.  
It almost sounded relieved.

Limbs went limp, but Shirou had been fooled before by beasts pretending to be down for the count.

The upper body fell with a dull 'thud'. Shirou nudged its back with his foot. Dead. He forced the Saw Cleaver out, more of the sickening symphony grinding in his ears.

'This isn't a human being. If I left it alone, it might have attacked someone else.' He hammered into his mind. Even if it, in its last seconds, had spoken.

Despite his certainty that a hero should kill the monsters, his insides turned as his eyes fell on the carved open beast. In death didn't look much different from a man.

He couldn't afford to look too close. He couldn't afford to think about it.

"If I could just..." He shook his head. There was no reason to wander into 'what ifs'. His meager skills in magecraft couldn't do a thing to cure whatever disease plagued this city.  
All he could do was compare it to mythological stories of his world. Of men and women cursed by the gods, of people who could come back from the dead and those driven mad by unknown spells. Kiritsugu told him their world was once inhabited by gods and all manners of creatures that lived along with humanity.

If gods existed in this world, they were cruel ones who didn't deserve worship. The Yharnamites seemed to believe they did, proven by the religious statues spread across the city.

Centering himself with a deep breath, he dusted himself off, lips curling down. Projecting a cloth and cleaning the blood and grime up was easy, but that would leave him open for more ambushes.

Shirou mentally thanked the powers that brought him here that his clothes always returned good as new when he arrived. The sensation no longer brought throat-closing nausea, but it was far from pleasant. The foul blood that seeped into his garb, rancid and wet to the skin would have raised a lot of questions back in Fuyuki.

'Hey Fuji-nee, what do I use to get cursed blood stains out of fabric?'

He had a hunch that wouldn't be well received there, and also apprehensive she would know the answer. He was pretty sure that shinai she used to beat people up – and sometimes him – was cursed as well.

Then, he braced himself for the pain of magecraft.

"Trace on," said Shirou, and molten lava seeped into his pores. Mana flowed, a vicious intruder intent on flaying his insides. It traced a pathway into his spine, coalescing in a scorching embrace. The only thing preventing him from flinching was the calloused hand of experience.

Thrice he completed this routine, leaving three magic circuits available. Not long ago, six years of harsh training and repetition had only granted him the same one circuit. Putting his life at risk in every skirmish had advanced his skills faster than any training could've.

As if he was meant for the battlefield.

Mana flowed into muscles and bone as he completed the Reinforcement spell. It empowered his body and smoothed out structural weaknesses. His rune - Clockwise Metamorphosis - empowered his vitality even further. The arcane symbol he glimpsed through Structural Analysis on a beast was worth the head-splitting migraine tailing him the following week.

Shirou resumed his hunt, readier than he had been for Yharnam.

The Yharnamites responded in kind. Mad, hollering in the streets, chasing down beasts. They waved their crude weapons in bloodlusted eagerness all too readily. He learned, one day at a time, when to hunt and when to keep his head down. Any 'ally' could turn on him for all the sorts of perceived slights.

Sometimes, he ran, even if rankled at him. He wasn't suicidal, and if running away would let him save someone the next day, he would.

With a sweeping slash, his weapon bit into another beast's flesh. A wolf this time, nimbler and able to dart into his guard in the blink of an eye. It died, but its parting howl attracted another of its kin. Five bullets puncturing its head gave it the same destiny.

Yharnam writhed with self-loathing as they slaughtered each other. Compared to his home city, Yharnam's twisting streets and more graveyards than parks made it hard to accept both of them as real. Fuyuki was peaceful and orderly, clean and pristine. The contrast was mind-bending.

Even if he wasn't one of the savage wolves stalking the streets, or a deformed giant smashing whatever dared come near him, the population often couldn't tell the difference. One could look human and be a beast all the same, and they wouldn't be crushed if that wasn't the case. Life here didn't have the same value it did in Japan.

As he traveled toward Yharnam's downtown, fabric flapped and rustled behind him. Shirou twisted on his heel, gun trained on the source of the sound.

"Jumpy, are we?" said the man, his tone amused. He had skipped over the rails above the stairs. "You could hurt someone like that,"

Grumbling, Shirou returned the pistol to its place. "Someone would've deserved it for sneaking on people like that."

He shrugged. Clad in a yellow Hunter's Garb, with a cowl stretched over his mouth and nose to filter Yharnam's air, Henryk said. "Fair enough. How's the hunt going, kid?"

His forehead furrowed. "Busy, I guess. There aren't many beasts, but some stragglers are dodging the civilians hunting them."

"Busy, he says," Henryk shook his head. "You know, this is no place for a kid. How about you go back home and let the real hunters get the job done? There are enough civilians sticking their noses in the hunt when they shouldn't."

Having gone over this many times before, there was only one appropriate answer. "No."

Henryk chortled. "Well, I tried. Viola can't give me grief now."

Shirou grinned despite himself. "Should you give up just like that? You're a terrible role model."

"Don't recall signing up for that. I'm a Hunter, not a babysitter. Besides... " Henryk looked down the street past the rails beside them. A dark smudge of blood stained the ground. "I could use the help tonight."

Shirou sighed and nodded. "Gascoigne isn't coming?"

His eyes crinkled, going darker. "Nah. Told him to take a raincheck this time. Man oughta stay with his family and out of this dirty business for a while."

"Is he alri-" Shirou halted himself. He wouldn't ask that question. He couldn't acknowledge the likely answer. "Yeah, that'll be good for him. Guess I'll have to watch your back then, old man."

"Hah! As if I need some upstart doing that for me. You haven't been to a real Hunt yet, lad." He reached to his left and Shirou noticed the extra holster. "Before I forget, here." A gun flew on his direction, and Shirou grabbed it in the air. It was a double-barrel pistol, crafted in a complex design. It gleamed in the night.  
Despite himself, he asked. "What is a real hunt like?"

It was hard to imagine things being worse.

"You don't see the sunrise until it's done, and it isn't done until nearly everything that moves is dead." Henryk shook his head. "Anyway, in all my years of hunting, never saw a shot like you. Wouldn't have believed if I didn't see it with my own eyes either. Can't be beginners luck after the tenth time."

His two weeks of Kyudo practice in Homurahara had been enough to teach him the essentials before he left. Tracing the target's image in his mind and bullseyeing it had been a matter of adapting his technique to a new tool.

Yharnam's pistols were far more effective than the old, school bows.

"It wasn't that hard," said Shirou idly, caressing the cold steel on his hands, enraptured. Guns captured his thoughts nearly as well as swords. He would inspect it later. "The two bullets will fire at the same time?"

"That's right. That thing has a punch to it. It eats twice as many bullets as the regular one, but that shouldn't be a problem to you and your magic tricks. Watch out for the recoil, though."

Projection would allow him to have ammunition as long as he had mana. It took a while, but he found a use to the skill Kiritsugu had deemed useless.

Shirou pocketed it in his holster and bowed. It a common gesture of appreciation in here, like in Japan. "Thanks Henryk. I'll use it well."

"Eh, sure. Just don't shoot your own foot or something. It's not pleasant, or so Gascoigne told me."

His eyes widened. "Gascoigne shot himself in the foot?"

It was hard to imagine considering Shirou was only alive because of Gascoigne's quick interference on his first night in Yharnam.

"Aye, when he was young and stupid." He grinned. "Well, younger and stupider. He can tell you about it later. Come on." Henryk descended the steps and Shirou followed suit.

And so they wandered the twisting streets, weaving around fallen carriages that choked the way. They walked past leering, stone gargoyles and wrought statues of idols Shirou didn't recognize.

Few beasts prowled the streets tonight, but he took comfort on how much he learned by watching Henryk work. After all, there would be more tomorrow. Experience taught him so.

The predatory grace in Henryk's gait and deft reflexes as he waved around beasts were the results of hard work and many battles.

Shirou would be like that, one day.

Hours passed – or so it seemed, since time was hard to tell in Yharnam. Engrossed in the Hunt, his head jerked up when Henryk announced "This is it for tonight. Good work, lad."

As if by magecraft, the words brought to him a wave of exhaustion that made his eyelids drop and his body heavy. A yawn struggled out of his mouth. "Alright, I guess it can't be helped."

"You know, it's stuff like this that makes me worry for you, lad."

Stretching his arms above his head, Shirou's brows creased. "What do you mean, old man?"

"You being eager for this. You ain't supposed to enjoy the Hunt, Shirou," said Henryk, using his name for once. "It's dirty work. Unpleasant, but needs to be done. That's all there is to it."

Shirou reeled back. "It's not like I enjoy it, Henryk. But this way, we're helping everyone, right? That's something good," he defended.

"Help," muttered Henryk. He turned on his heel. "I guess you can look at it that way. Not sure if it'll last though." His head craned back and he looked at Shirou, voice taciturn.

"Don't let yourself get caught up in the Hunt, lad. Those who do don't come back."

The weariness in his words resonated within Shirou, making his exhaustion clearer. "Yeah, I'll be careful."

They walked back to Gascoigne's house in silence, keeping tired eyes open and wary for threats. To their luck, few of them came.

After several flights of stair and navigating the maze of Yharnam's streets, their feet took them to a familiar house. Stony and encompassed by sharp, waist-high fences, it was made to be beast-proof. Large, bright windows were lit up from the inside. A steely gate separated the neighborhood from the rest of the town.

By the window, they heard a cheery voice.

"Grandpa!" the young girl called out from the inside.

"How can she always tell?" mused Shirou.

"Has a good nose, that one," he said with a touch of pride. "If she uses it well, it'll keep her outta trouble when she grows up."

They waited for the many locks behind the door to get undone, a slow and methodical process that wracked his nerves despite no beasts being around. It felt like tempting fate.  
Gascoigne, for once in civilian clothes - a shirt with high-collar and a bowler hat, burst out to greet them. "Henryk, thank goodness! And is that Shirou? Come in, come in."  
Shirou made to leave, but Gascoigne's badgering and Viola's polite, if strained invitations made refusal impossible. Gascoigne's wife hadn't warmed up to him and he was sure she wouldn't any time soon.

Henryk's granddaughter barreled onto his legs, and the man's disposition softened.

It was warm and cozy in the house, safe from the world outside. Somewhere Gascoigne and Viola's child could have a decent, if sheltered childhood.

They sat in the chairs near the fireplace, and Viola brought them leftovers from dinner. Victorian food offended his spoiled, modern sensibilities but he did his best not to show it. Viola already glared at him enough.

They did their best to engage him, even if the sensation of being an outsider lingered. It seemed to stalk him wherever he went these days.

There was little to talk about. Gascoigne and Henryk's lives were consumed by the Hunt and Viola would have none of it near her daughter. Books and old stories – the ones they could tell near the child at least - were the safe topics.

When the child was tucked to bed, Gascoigne asked about the hunt, with eager, bloodshot eyes. Catching in the corner of his vision Henryk's incensed expression, Shirou intervened. He asked Gascoigne about the foot incident, who swore up and down he didn't actually shoot his own foot.

"It was all a misunderstanding, you see".

Old, funny stories seemed to ground him. The soft melody of a music box on a shelf chimed along and he looked better as time passed.

The three of them exchanged stories, laughed together and they badgered him. Both were intrigued, by the strange land Shirou claimed to come from. His heavily edited tales still impressed them, and if they knew how much he kept close to chest, they didn't show. He left in better spirits than when he came in.

The night was close to ending when he returned to the streets, and this dream was soon to end as well. He came by Gilbert's house, which wasn't far from Gascoigne's, and chatted with the sickly man for a while. His friend endured his persistent coughs with a smile, and saw Shirou out with a cheery goodbye.

Bolstered by the success of the night - or the closest he could get to it within his current limitations - he let his mind wander. He thought about the few islands – small as they were – untouched the plague.

Perhaps there were more of them around. Small, warm shares of happiness like Gascoigne's household. He let other memories plunge deeply into his subconscious, hidden but not entirely forgotten. Of Gascoigne mumbling to himself, bloodshot eyes and the eery silence he would fall into every few minutes. The islands were all the more precious because of their rarity. There was more to this world than beasts and madness.

He could do more than Hunt. He could protect those who wanted to live their lives in peace, even if they didn't recognize or appreciate his efforts.

Drowsy, his mind drifting into a pleasant haze, he looked above to the Moon. It hung past its low, still bright and full, gleaming at him. Looming, watching.

Shirou sat by Gilbert's window, and as sleep came to him again, he realized he had never watched Yharnam's sunrise.

-

**Well, here it is. Yeah, Shirou, the king of gruesome bad endings, hasn't died yet. The idea behind it is that the Hunt, capital H, only starts when a Hunter makes the contract.**

**And Shirou keeps avoiding his legal obligations. Lawyer up, Moon. That shit can't stand.**


	3. Chapter 3

Good news. Somehow the chapter grew a mind of its own and started branching out of the outline, bigger and bigger, but enough was left from the original plan that I have a couple of thousand words into the next one, so cheers.

Thanks for reading guys, I really appreciated the good reception this got.

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**Chapter 3**

_Shirou warmed his hands around his teacup, elbows propped on the mahogany table. Gascoigne sat on the other side of the table, sipping at his tea. It was an energizing beverage common in Yharnam, produced from a plant Shirou wasn't familiar with. A bitter taste clung to his tastebuds but his mind raced, sharper and quicker. Wood crackled and hissed in the dining room's fireplace, and incense permeated the house._

_It was like visiting a European museum. The decoration was alien to his Japanese upbringing._

_"But you said civilians are out in the night all the time, too. How can I know who are the dangerous ones and who are civilians minding their business?"_

_Gascoigne stroked his grizzled beard. "You do the Yharnam once-over, of course."_

_"Yharnam once-over?" asked Shirou, bemused._

_The hunter nodded, grinning. "Aye," said Gascoigne, voice raspy like gravel rattling down a drain, but ever friendly. "You take a long, good look at them and decide if it's a crazy, a potential beast or a human being in distress." He said, having another sip of his tea. "Every hunter worth his salt learns to tell the signs."_

_"But what if I'm wrong? What if I end up provoking someone innocent?"_

_Everyone became jumpier during the hunts – and they had a right to. It was a chaotic, lawless mess._

_Gascoigne hummed ."Unfortunately, that risk comes with the job, Shirou. There's no easy answer; if you are mistaken and someone innocent dies, then that's it. The Healing Church can do some amazing things, but resurrection is not one of them. And it's been a long time since they cared enough to spread more experienced hunters across the city."_

_Viola sauntered in, teapot in hand. Her blonde hair was bound in a little bun that highlighted her severe expression. A simple, white dress clung to her figure. She bent down and refilled Gascoigne's cup. "Thank you, dear."_

_She leaned in and kissed the hunter's cheek, features softening, before turning on her heel. She left upstairs with a parting, disdainful look at Shirou._

_His shoulders slumped. "I don't think Viola likes me much, Gascoigne."_

_"Hah," he laughed, but craned his neck back to where she left to, making sure she wasn't listening. "Sorry about that, Shirou. My wife is a Yharnamite to the core; stubborn, proud and not too fond of outsiders. That's how things are here."_

_Memories of mockery and foul words jumped to his mind. "Actually she's way more polite about it than the rest. Still, if I'm being a bother-"_

_The hunter waved. "Relax kid, don't be so hard on yourself. It'll take a while but she'll warm up to you." Gascoigne doubled over the desk, motioning Shirou in closer. Shirou followed, curious. "Here's a secret," he confided. "She didn't like me at first either. Not at all."_

_Shirou blinked, their last interaction replaying in his thoughts. "Really? Why? You seem so comfortable around each other."_

_Gascoigne threw his head up. "I was an outsider once, too." He drummed his fingers down on the wood, deep in thought. "Those were simpler days, but not much easier for me. Being treated like you don't belong wears on you. They treated us hunters – still do sometimes, especially the outsiders – like we owed them our servitude."_

_Even if his words were contrite, he didn't sound regretful, so Shirou said. "How did you make things better?"_

_If Gascoigne had a secret to get the townsfolk to trust him more, he'd be all for it. Even if sometimes he had a few words of choice to the ruder citizens in his mind._

_"Time and honest, hard work."_

_Shirou nodded, subdued. That lined up with his expectations._

_Gascoigne grinned. "That and I worked on my accent." He cleared his throat. "I don' reckon' yer from aroun' here. Stuck outside on a nigh' of the hunt? Oh yer poor, poor thing," he imitated in a feminine voice, crowning it with an unsettling, slow laugh. Gascoigne cleared his throat again. "They're friendlier when they think you're a local."_

_Shirou blinked in bewilderment. "That...was disturbingly accurate." And familiar enough that he was certain he'd heard these exact same words before._

_"That's years of practice for you," said Gascoigne. "But back to my wife. I had my eyes on her since the first time we met; most beautiful woman I had ever laid my eyes on. Of course, it wasn't mutual, and she'd do that thing with her nose every time I was around." He circled his finger above a deliberately wrinkled nose. "Like she'd just taken a dive into the dirtiest bits of Yharnam's sewers."_

_Shirou had become familiar with that face as well. It never failed to make him feel lower than a cockroach._

_Gascoigne smiled, head tilting up and Shirou was reminded of Kiritsugu when he had told old, fond stories of his youth. "We started off backwards. I had her father's approval before she ever wanted to see my sorry face in the same room as her."_

_"You knew him from before that, wasn't it? Henryk told me you guys were partners since you were young."_

_Gascoigne nodded, fiddling with his cup. "It wasn't always like that. Henryk used to be a hunter in a small village where we were born – not a hunter of beasts; the kind that brought food to the table and skinned animals for their pelts. That changed when the Scourge began, and we needed all the hands we could get. Some beasts behaved like animals, except a lot more vicious, so his experience became worth its weight in gold. I was one of the apprentices assigned to Henryk. Old bastard made sure to drive away the rest with his 'training', so only I was brave enough to stick around."_

_"Did he fling knives on them?" asked Shirou, acquainted with the man's methods on 'situational awareness'._

_The hunter laughed. "All the time. Almost sliced off my earlobe once." He trailed off. "And all I got out of that hell was a 'you aren't so bad after all, kid'," he mimicked. "Ungrateful coot, that Henryk," he said in a sour tone._

_Shirou could tell he didn't mean it. The two of them often exchanged jabs at each other._

_"He did that to you too, huh?" asked Gascoigne._

_"I was kneeling down on a corner, checking my gear after killing a wolf when a knife flew right in front of my eyes. I hit the back of my head on a lamp," said Shirou._

_There would be a reckoning, of that Shirou was certain._

_"Just like when he was young. You can't teach an old dog new tricks, and he sure as hell won't let go of his old ones, it seems."_

_"Daddy, daddy!" Arabella barged in from the living room, arms spread up and wide for Gascoigne. "Are you done talking? Can I play with Shirou now?"_

_"Oh." Gascoigne grinned, picking her up. "You want to play with Shirou?"_

_"With me?" repeated Shirou, confused._

_"Yes," she said, bobbing her head. "Mum doesn't let me out of the house anymore so he's the only kid around to play with."_

_The simple admission tugged at his heartstrings. A kid shouldn't be locked in their home._

_"Ah, I see." Gascoigne nodded, as if it made entire sense._

_"I'm not a kid, you know," he tried. She turned her eyes to him, wide as saucers and pleading, and Gascoigne looked at him, expectant._

_'Oh, come on...'_

_It looked like he already lost this battle before it even started._

_"Alright, I'll play with you later, Bella," he said. "But just so you know, I'm fifteen."_

_Gascoigne sputtered, choking on his drink. The child giggled along with him, animated by her father's expression. "Fifteen? You're kidding, Shirou," he said, chest rumbling with laughter._

_'It's about my height again, isn't it?' he thought, resigned. It wasn't his fault everyone in this city was so damn tall._

_And that he was a little below average back home too._

_"Yeah, I'm fifteen, Gascoigne. It's hilarious," he droned._

_"It absolutely is," he said." You cannot be a day over fourteen. Didn't they feed you in your home, kid?"_

_Shirou opened his mouth to refute him._

_"Will I be taller than Shirou, daddy?" she asked, eyes wide open._

_Gascoigne caressed her cheek with a finger. "Oh, of course you will dear."_

_Shirou fastened his metaphorical belt and endured the teasing, safe in the certainty that his late growth spurt would make everyone eat their words._

_Hopefully._

_"Now off with you, I think I heard your mum call. We'll be done talking in a minute," Gascoigne said, heaving her off, and she scurried off, skipping away upstairs. "You better make good on your promise, Shirou," he said, severe eyes set on him._

_Shirou nodded. "I will," he said. If he could make this more bearable for the little girl, then he would. He steeled himself for what would come next. "Hey Gascoigne, I've been meaning to ask. You and Henryk taught me a lot, but you haven't said much about the old blood and the transfusions you guys got."_

_A shadow fell over the room, the cheery atmosphere drifting away like a dream. Gascoigne settled down his cup, the liquid sloshing inside. Regret piled up, an uncomfortable lump inside his throat, but he shoved it aside. He had been able to tell the old blood was a sore topic in the house, but ignorance could mean death here._

_Shirou was tired of running headfirst into beasts without knowing anything about them. What if some of them had a poisonous bite, or could turn him into one of them like vampires? Kiritsugu hadn't taught him much, but being careful around magecraft was something hammered into him._

_Gascoigne looked down. "Usually I would say we don't talk about it in this house, but I can tell you don't mean any harm. It's just..." He massaged his temples, obscuring his eyes. "I don't like talking about it, and neither does Henryk," he said, subdued._

_Shirou waited as Gascoigne groped for words. "Henryk and I needed it," he said, finally. "We were getting older, muscles going weak, mind not as quick as it used to be. We needed the transfusion so we could work." The fingers on his head went white, scrunched tight. "I wasn't in it for cheap thrills or to use the blood for every little cold I got. The beasts kept coming and I needed to support my home. Viola was happy about it; the Yharnamites worship the damn thing. And with the old blood, I wasn't a wrong move away from kicking the bucket anymore."_

_He sighed, expelling the air in a deliberate, worn-out manner. "Then I convinced Henryk to go for it, too. He had settled down with my mother-in-law, bless her soul, but he missed work. I pestered him, we all did, and he finally gave in. Henryk thought the whole thing was sketchy. Who in their right minds believes in miracles, he used to say." Gascoigne shook his head ruefully. "The man usually was right about this kind of thing, but we insisted."_

_A spark of hope ignited within Shirou, eager regardless of Gascoigne's clear regret. "But it made Henryk strong again, right? I should get a transfusion too; I won't be much help as I'm now-"_

_"No!" Gascoigne's fist slammed on the table and Shirou jumped off his seat. Both their cups clanked aside, spilling tea all over the table. With trembling hands, Gascoigne rearranged his fallen cup. Tea pooled over mahogany wood, and Shirou sat back, cautiously doing the same. At the corner of his eye, he saw Arabella peeking from upstairs._

_He grimaced. "Sorry, didn't mean to startle you, but you shouldn't rush into a decision like that, Shirou." His deep voice had a shaky inflection to it. "The blood...I can't even describe how it feels." Gascoigne's eyes closed and he sucked in a breath. "It's better than anything you could imagine. Better than your birthday, better than your first lay, better... than the birth of your child" he confessed, "and you wonder where this has been your whole life. You start wanting more of it, every day, every hour..." A feverish energy seemed to empower him. "You feel alive; invincible. It's enough to make a man sick."_

_Silence reigned but for Gascoigne's deep, troubled breaths. Behind Shirou, a clock tickled, unmitigated by the stillness of the room. Feeling like he was walking on a field filled by hungry wolves, he pondered on what to say. The little girl had stopped watching them, perhaps scared away by her father's tone._

_"It sounds like a drug," said Shirou, finally._

_"That's because it can be," said Gascoigne. His breath settled into a more comfortable pace. "You're young and have options – you're far stronger than a boy your age has any right to be, old blood or not. You have that rune of yours, you have that strange magic, so don't get ahead of yourself. Into things you won't be able to get out of."_

_"I'll be careful..." Shirou grimaced. "Sorry about this, Gascoigne. I didn't want to bother you, I just..."_

_Gascoigne sighed. "It's alright; as I said, I know you mean well. And I also meant it when I said you have a knack for the hunt; never seen a boy your age so calm with a wolf snapping at his heels. "_

_The unexpected words startled him. "No, I was terrified." The sharp, jagged teeth and a corrosive smell he felt several feet away had sent his heart soaring in fright._

_Gascoigne blinked, at a loss of words. "Well, if you were, then you sure have a strange way of showing it. You didn't run for your life, scream or lay down and let it chew off your leg - I've seen it happen. You picked a weapon and fought it off."_

_"If I did any of that then my leg would get chewed off anyway," said Shirou. "If I fought it then I had a chance."_

_Gascoigne acquiesced. "'Suppose that's right. Just surprising coming from an untrained kid, is all."_

_Shirou frowned. "I guess I've seen bad things before, too." The fire had shown him that much. The memory kept the fear at bay, along with the knowledge that he had been through worse._

_"Aye..." Gascoigne's head tilted towards the large window guarded by steel bars to his left. A self-imposed prison. He peered outside. "We all have."_

* * *

A snarl rippled through the air and Shirou swatted the beast away. Coal-black fur obscured his vision as he struggled to repel the monster's assault.

He had thought he'd seen the worst Yharnam had to offer when it came to four-legged abominations. The infestation on the Central Bridge, the stone and brick colossus that led to Cathedral Ward, proved him wrong.

The wolf – or that was the closest approximation he could make - snarled again. It was as tall as a car and bore elongated, jagged limbs with razor-sharp claws at the end of each paw. They grated against the Central Bride's floor, the beast winding up its next pounce.

Hands firm around the hilt of his weapon and guard up, Shirou didn't give it the chance. A glint of bestial cunning shone in the beast's red eyes and it juked, hurtling left and right, murderous and eyes fixed on him.

He opened his guard on the left, his mind flying into an imaginary future, of blows yet to come. There was no higher intellect remaining in the beast to draft a plan, but it responded to the vulnerable spot. It attacked, attempting to nail his arm with its claws.

He skipped to the right, snapping his Saw Cleaver to its full form and driving an overhead blow into dark flesh. It screamed, the deafening sound assaulting his ears.

It sprung off, the deep gash obstructing its movements, and its paws slipped on the bridge's cobblestone. The tables had turned, and the beast had become the prey.

Shirou charged ahead and the beast rose on its hind legs. Transforming his weapon back to its regular form, he snatched for the Pistol. The beast's teeth, sharp and uneven, bit into his weapon. Its claws aimed to lacerate his skin, cutting into his garb. His pistol, saturated with Mana, roared with a reinforced shot.

Its head erupted, pieces of brain matter and a river of blood bursting from their rightful places. Its body slumped, and Shirou breathed a sigh of relief. Around him, along the bridge's length, deathly dances like his happened in an unending tide, but subdued compared to an hour ago. The beasts would keep returning, but tonight the infestation was under control.

He took a second to admire the architecture around him. There was no denying Yharnam had a jagged, haunting beauty to it. The Central Bridge was longer and wider than Fuyuki's Shinto bridge, wrought and resistant even to the perils of the hunt. Someday he would see it in the morning, sunlight bathing the baroque constructions.

"You okay, lad?" asked Henryk, approaching him with his bloody weapon slung over his shoulder. The zone he had been in littered with deformed giants and crows.

"Sure," said Shirou, catching his breath. "You?"

"Could've been better, but that's a given." Henryk gazed at the far end of the bridge. "If we let the damn beasts take over the bridge, we'll lose the largest depository of incense. Yharnam would fall in days." Henryk shook his head. "Who the hell planned this damn city?"

Mostly inured to Henryk's endless list of grievances against Yharnam, Shirou's eyes flickered to the Moon. As always, unease bubbled in, another unpleasant sensation offered by Yharnam. One of many.

The hunter craned his neck back and forth, stretching it. "We're about done here, I think," he said, gazing at the corpses strewn through their area. "Guess that gun is serving you well," he said, a touch of irony in his tone.

Shirou caressed the handle, having already memorized its blueprint by heart. "Yeah, it's amazing," said Shirou, heedless.

Henryk surveyed the entirety of the bridge and whistled. "Shit, we left a mess here." Gory bits peppered the cobblestone floor and the rails of the bridge, the blood tinting it in crimson. "Wanna be a real hero, lad? Sign up to the cleanup crews. Those are the true heroes, deserving songs to their names."

And to his surprise, the long hours of dusting and waxing wooden walkways and spacious rooms enticed his tired mind. Cleaning up his house had always been soothing, even if he didn't admit it near Fuji-nee. There was only so much teasing about being the ideal wife he could take. "I will give them a hand, sometime. They sound like they could use the help."

"Huh, you're actually considering it." Henryk shook his head. "You're the bravest man I know, lad. We usually dump that work off on the criminals and beggars and head off. Now come on, we've got a long night to go."

As they made to leave, a wizened, feminine voice called out from beneath. "A moment of your time gentlemen, if I may."

Henryk went rigid, and Shirou turned on his heel to look back. A person, clad in a dark outfit stalked in their direction, walking up the access stairs of the bridge. A pitch black cloak, resembling wings, enshrouded her. Thick, silver braces covered her arms and a beaked mask, long and carved out of wood, concealed her features.

Shirou might as well have been looking at a humanoid crow. His hands floated close to his weapons again.

"Eileen," said Henryk neutrally.

"Who is that, Henryk?" asked Shirou, weapon trained to his side.

"I am not here to fight," she said. "My apologies for interrupting your hunt, but I'm afraid I come bearing...undesirable news."

Henryk scoffed. "And when have crows ever brought good news?" Despite his words, the tension suffusing his body diminished. Leerily, he lowered his Saw Cleaver. Shirou followed suit, still tense. "Well? Spit it out."

"Your partner has been causing a ruckus near the Oedon fountain. A couple of colleagues of his tried to talk him down, but he swung his weapon at them, and they asked me to come to you. They are awfully nervous about a hunter as strong as Gascoigne being aggressive, and said you should handle it. Apparently, he was supposed to be at home resting?" she said.

The strange woman snooping on information about Gascoigne fished out old memories. Gascoigne's silences, his mushy pupils, him forgetting their names. 'No, Gascoigne is okay. Last night he'd been fine. Talking, joking, playing with his daughter. I didn't see anything wrong.'

Hunters were the strongest people in Yharnam. Whatever sickness was ailingGascoigne, he could fight it off.

Shirou had seen nothing wrong with him. He suppressed the memories with a will of steel.

Henryk swore under his breath. "I'll be right there. Thanks for the heads-up." Henryk twisted on his heels. "Come on, Shirou."

"Another moment, please," she called out and shimmied closer. Shirou tensed again. "Is this a new partner of yours, Henryk?" Eileen asked, beak shifting languidly as she sized him up.

Uncanny didn't even begin to describe it.

Henryk, coiled like a spring and bursting with the urge to move, responded. "An apprentice."

"I see," said Eileen. "What is your name, young one?" Her thick accent, for which he had no frame of reference, marked her as yet another outsider in this city.

"Emiya Shirou," he said, for once uncaring about niceties. They had to save Gascoigne, and she was wasting their time.

"Emiya Shirou," she tested, ponderous. "A strange name, but I'll remember it." Her bird-like garb fluttered as she moved away from them, reminding him of the black crows that nested in the higher peaks of the city.

As they turned to leave, Eileen declared. "The scent of the moon clings to you, Emiya Shirou. A long Hunt lies ahead for us," she said, regretful. "I hope you'll be yourself by the end of it."

Henryk growled. "Are you done talking or you want to keep bothering us?" Despite his words, he didn't budge an inch. "And what's that supposed to mean?" he asked.

"It means your apprentice will experience the horrors of the Hunt far more intimately than you ever did. I pray you trained him well." She stepped away and walked downstairs. "Have a good hunt, gentlemen."

The distant pattering of her boots was all that remained from the strange woman. Her ominous words burned in his memory.

"Let's move," said Henryk, and without any further warning took off at startling speeds. Disoriented, Shirou almost didn't catch him speeding off.

Eyes wide, Shirou spurred his legs in motion. His feet beat cobblestone like hammers. A realization came that, reinforced as he was, mana and ancient, alien symbols permeating his being, he was moving faster than he ever thought possible.

Air repelled them and made their garbs flap. "Who was that?"

"Eileen the Crow. A Hunter of hunters."

The uneven ground, fallen stone and empty carriages loitering the streets made it impossible to follow a clear path. His waist reverberated with pain as he slammed it on the wooden wheels of a carriage. "She hunts other Hunters?" asked Shirou between gulping breaths.

"The ones that go crazy. She's an old woman now, not the terror she used to be, but that mask of hers used to send grown men running for their lives. You don't want the Crow setting her sights on you." The cowl covering the lower part of his face stretched as his jaw clenched. "And neither should Gascoigne."

"If she goes after Gascoigne, we'll protect him," said Shirou. He narrowly avoided the sudden appearance of a citizen by the corner, who yelled profanities at him.

Gascoigne was a friend, and helped others out even if they scorned his actions. He had saved Shirou's life, and Shirou would spend whatever efforts needed to repay him for that.

He had a duty he hadn't fulfilled. He wasn't allowed to die without saving anyone, and Gascoigne had given him the gift of life.

"Yeah," Henryk said. "And you, be careful, now more than ever." He leaped over the rails and Shirou mimicked him, gripping steely bars to balance himself in the air. Henryk, old as he was, left Shirou eating dust as he ducked, climbed and overcame every obstacle. "Never liked that woman, but she's not one for jokes. If she says you should watch out, then you damn well should," he shouted. His legs launched him one last time over another set of stairs and he rolled, dissipating the leftover energy.

Shirou aped the techniques as best as he could, but his body throbbed like one giant bruise. His head pulsated after a last, unsuccessful roll.

They crossed a gigantic gate and the commotion became clear. A dozen villagers with pitchforks and torches in hand circled Gascoigne as he hacked his ax into the corpse of a crow larger than Shirou was tall. He did it in slow, deliberate blows. Crimson fluid flowed and seeped into the clear water of the fountain. More of its kin lay motionless around it, but Gascoigne seemed to have eyes only for one.

"Get out!" bellowed Henryk. He spread his arms wide twice. "Make space, you fools!"

His voice stirred the crowd from a trance. Most looked relieved to see someone take charge, but Shirou resolved to keep an eye on two of them. Their guns were trained at Gascoigne, a glint in their eyes that made his stomach turn. Gascoigne didn't take his eyes off his prey.

Henryk dropped his Saw Cleaver on the ground and hunkered down low, approaching in measured steps. Trickles of sweat ran down Shirou's nape, not only from their mad dash towards Gascoigne. Gingerly, Henryk closed the distance. With the mana flowing through his circuits, Shirou reinforced his ears to hear them.

"Gascoigne, come on..." said Henryk, voice cut by a frustrated undertone. "You're not like this. Snap out of it, dammit."

Through his reinforced hearing, Shirou detected Gascoigne's trembling gasp. Hemuttering something indistinguishable, talking with feverish energy.

"Gascoigne, it's me, Henryk. I'm here for you so let's go ho-"

A gunshot rang out, far enough to be from other hunters. Gascoigne roared and lurched in their direction. A piece of cloth, wet with vivid, fresh blood was wrapped around his eyes, an unsettling crimson tinging the white fabric.

"No," Henryk whispered. "Dammit Gascoigne, what did you do...?"

Shirou's sight flickered from Henryk to Gascoigne, who took deep, angry breaths that filled the night's cold air with fog. Henryk was still as a statue, his former impetus aborted. Shirou took a step ahead, also dropping his weapon on the ground and raising his hands to the air.

"Gascoigne, it's me, Shirou." A dangerous, rumbling sound was his response and he choked down the rising urge to grab his weapon. Even if meant only for self-defense, it could be interpreted as a sign of aggression. "Henryk is here too. We won't hurt you."

The hunter's head swayed and he seemed to contemplate his surroundings. "Viola is waiting for you back home, remember?" said Shirou, reaching for something. Anything.

Gascoigne flailed, and the region around his eyes seemed to scrunch tight. Whether this was a good thing or not, Shirou couldn't tell.

"That's right Gascoigne," said Henryk, snapping back to himself. "Your wife and daughter are waiting for you. My daughter and granddaughter, Gascoigne," he insisted, and Shirou gritted his teeth. What if this didn't work? What if this came to blows?

To his relief, something in their words seemed to reach Gascoigne. His shoulders sagged a bit.

"I trusted you with my daughter, Gascoigne. What would Viola think of this? What would Arabella think of her dad being like this? You are the man of the house, you have a duty to protect them. You promised me," Henryk's voice rose in volume. "You promised me dammit."

Gascoigne's hand went slack and his Hunter's Ax fell uselessly in reverberating clangs. His legs gave in, as if his strength had been sapped from them all at once.

Henryk hurried to him, chants of "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," reaching Shirou's ears.

"It's alright, you'll be fine, come on." Henryk's voice was terse, but he laid a hand on the man's shoulders nonetheless.

Shirou let out a queasy breath. This had been too close – too close to something he didn't want to consider.

Behind Gascoigne, a black shape flickered and began towering over him and Henryk, who had his head down.

Everything stopped. In the timeless moment, where the world held its breath, Emiya Shirou sprinted into the tumultuous situation without a second thought.

"Look out!" he managed to shout.

His Saw Cleaver lay forgotten behind him, but his arms were ready to take the blows. The black crow crowed as it extended its talons. He was close enough that its bellowing threatened to shatter his eardrums.

So intent on protecting the duo, Shirou didn't see Gascoigne's equally quick reaction, and missed the Hunter's Ax cutting the air. He slashed at the Crow's direction.

Along with Shirou.

Cold, unforgiving steels severed skin, muscles and blood vessels in a single go, searing deep into his body. His blood smeared the ground and, through the shock, Shirou saw his intestines falling out.

Oxygen leaked out of his brain in a wave, and dizziness permeated his vision, turning it black on the edges. Even lying still, his limbs weighted heavier than ever. The pain rushed and consumed his mind until it passed a threshold and he ceased to feel anything at all. Worried shouts of his name and laughter came from inside his head as his body struggled against its end.

Shirou rose his hand up in the air, a futile gesture that seemed to always come to him as death drew near. Through his fingers, he saw the Moon, the only thing clear in his state, brighter than ever, shining for him and only him. Moonlight embraced him, and for a split-second, he thought he saw a floating silhouette, dark and ominous before his eyes gave in.

"Sorry Kiritsugu," he whispered, before consciousness slipped from him.

* * *

**Yeah, I meant it when I said it wasn't a Hunters' fight until somebody had their intestines hanging out.**

**Wait, this wasn't a proper fight. There's always next time, I guess.**

**...but the protagonist is dead, and not even 10k words in. Well, pack your shit guys. Story is over. Maybe in his next life, Shirou will have more luck.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Phew, this was a tough one. Real talk now guys. Bloodborne is, at its core, a game filled with fighting and so far, especially in this chapter, I didn't have much to show for it. In these first few chapters, I tried establishing the world and chapters so things would have a proper weight when shit happens later, but don't beat around the bush. You can voice complaints about that and more. It's how I can improve the sad thing I call my writing.**

**Anyway, here it is. Hope you enjoy it.**

* * *

**Chapter 4**

A haze of thoughts and feelings coursed through him in an inescapable swirl. Flashes of awareness were all that was left.

His garb was secured around his skin, but he felt no pressure from the contact. Arms, legs, torso, hands, feet, neck and head; all of them thrummed with _something_, yet none responded to his fleeting commands.

"Oh yes, Paleblood..."

The mere sound shook and seized him, and he renewed his struggle. Shirou cracked an eye open with force of will born out of sheer desperation. A blurry world presented itself, filled with shadows and a single but glaring orange light.

Someone scoffed. Eyes scrunched, Shirou squinted at the source of the sound.

"Your arrival, premature as it seems, has been eagerly anticipated, young man," the man said. He hunched down and tilted a broad top hat forward, his eyes obscured by it.

Vision clearing up, he saw the man, clad in a tattered cloak, was sitting in a wheelchair. His scraggly, gray hair showed the wear of age.

Its wheels rattled and creaked, an ear-splitting combination to his sensitive hearing. The stranger approached, and his attempts at coercing his limbs to so much as flinch failed.

"You need only unravel its mystery," the old man said wryly. "To be personally acquainted with the wonders of the good blood and not know its touch, its caress as it flows into your veins and seeps into your being. What a terrible fate, indeed."

The stranger hummed, and a last groan escaped the wooden wheels as they parked by his bed. With some effort, he bent over him, and Shirou's chest stiffened clenched, breath trapped in it. His eyes had been covered by grimy, gray bandages, coiling up deeply into his hat.

Shirou's teeth gritted, bound together by the weight of his powerlessness. "We shall rectify that. All you need is a contract," he said.

Reality winked out.

"Good," he said, pleased as Shirou's vision returned. "All signed and sealed, at last." Shirou tried to speak to the stranger – to demand answers, to ask what was happening, to say anything. His jaw trembled, but nothing more.

"Now, let's begin the transfusion. Oh, don't you worry...whatever happens, you may think it all a mere bad dream."

The old man chuckled, a ragged and frayed laugh as a sharp needle punctured the crook of his left arm. The prick evolved into a more familiar pain; molten lava, thick and rousing cascaded into his arm and branched beyond.

But, even the mind-numbing pain couldn't push away the rush of rightness that followed. Shirou felt his remaining senses shutting down, lulled into a deep sleep. Only his heart, beating ravenous and hungry remained.

Time passed, unaware of his plight, feeling like hours, days, weeks going by. Blood pooled on the ground, and Shirou became aware that he was aware. Something dripped on the floor, and instead of the old man a beast lurked, watching. It materialized from the blood, and reached out for him. Claws longer and sharper than a sword curled in anticipation, splashing as they moved in the crimson puddle.

Yet, no fear addled him.

It burst into flames, fire licking and cracking, bathing him in heat and cleansing him from _something_. Purifying a sickness he didn't know he had.

Then, the abominations came. Gaping and bony, with cavernous faces. They scrambled up to his bed and latched onto him, spectral fingers icy-cold against his feverish skin. More and more came, groaning and huddling together, pawing at him.

A deep-seated relief washed over him as he was set free from the scorching flames. The same sense of rightness lulled him into accepting their help. They babbled nonsensically to each other over his head. Shirou dozed off, uncaring of their ministrations - uncaring of anything but his well-earned slumber.

* * *

Shirou's eyes cracked open.

Reality settled in, along with echoes of pain, distant but noticeable in his drowsy mind.

He groaned, his throat raw and raspy. His swaying limbs responded to his commands in awkward, jerky motions as he fumbled for a grip to force his body up. Shirou hissed, his abdomen having contracted agonizingly, as if it would be bisected by the smallest movement.

"Easy, easy, young man. You are in no condition to stress your body out," said a feminine voice not far away. He hadn't been alone in the room, and gentle hands clutched his shoulders and coaxed him into lying down again. He noticed a pair of crutches leaning on the wall near him.

"Here, open your mouth," she said. Shirou obliged, and a trickle of water sloshed down his windpipe, wet and refreshing.

Shirou sucked in a trembling breath. "W-where am I...?" he said, words raspy and fighting their way out.

"In my clinic," she said. She was dressed in a white, stainless robe and brown hair tied up in a professional bun. 'Like a doctor,' he thought. "My name is Iosefka, young man. A few mutual friends of ours brought you here for treatment."

"Clinic?" he wondered out loud, surveying his surroundings. He hadn't been lying on a bed. It was a gurney, and the faint scent of alcohol invaded his nostrils, along with copper and formaldehyde. It seemed like a primitive hospital. Yharnam's baroque construction was at odds with Fuyuki's pristine white hospitals.

Around him, rows were filled with medical implements and books. Shirou couldn't help but notice the restraint-equipped gurneys spread across the room.

'Who did they have to use those for?'

"My apologies. I have no resources to help you any further," she said, tone regretful. "The nights have been long and my supplies haven't been stinted for quite some time. You will have to bear with the pain a bit. It isn't usual for a patient to have adverse reactions, and no amount of medicine could control your fever."

His blood buzzed under his skin, as if it had become thicker and agitated. Beyond that, his circuits - his tool to use magecraft - were more numerous than before. They traced parallel pathways from his soul and into his flesh and nerves.

'One, two, three,' he mentally counted, and gave up when he found more than ten.

What had happened? How could he have made so many circuits while he was unconscious?

Or had he been unconscious?

He racked his brain, but only flighty impressions and indistinct sensations responded to his call. A mounting headache demanded his attention, and he rubbed his temples. His training had prepared him for situations such as these. He eased the pain with slow and controlled breaths, relaxing his aching body as best as he could.

The circuits responded to his treatment as well, their misfirings and unmitigated energy subsiding.

"It's okay," he said. "I'm used to it miss," he pried his mind, another reactive rush of headache affecting him. "Iosefka."

"I see," she said, head bowing down. "How unfortunate."

"Why am I here?" he asked.

"An accident during the hunt, I believe. I'm not privy to the specifics, but you suffered a severe wound. Quite the strange one, very clean coming from a beast."

She placed her palm on his forehead and her features softened. "What a relief. It is coming down. You are very lucky, young man."

Shirou patted his abdomen, compelling his sputtering memory to work. The image of an ax and glinting steel rewarded his efforts. "I think...I think I remember it."

The accident. Gascoigne...

A circuit misfired again, mana flowing very close to his bandaged wound, like swords skewering his insides. Shirou gritted his teeth and resumed cleaning his thoughts.

He had to find a way to close these new circuits. Normally they simply faded back into inactivity, but to think he could have so many...

Their very existence went against what he had learned. It was as if they had been hiding there, just beyond his reach. As far as he knew, though, that shouldn't be possible. He always had to create them from scratch, following the same tortuous steps for years.

"I will take my leave now. Henryk and Viola have been worried sick for you. I wish I could've delivered you in a better state, but I'll not keep you away from them any longer. Avoid any strenuous movements and you'll be fine. The good blood will make it so."

"Blood?" Shirou repeated, but she had already left through the thick, mahogany door, leaving it open.

And through it, Henryk and Viola set foot in the room, both their gazes falling onto him.

"Looks like the Crow was right on mark," said Henryk. "You look like shit, Shirou."

Viola looked at him with disapproving, grey eyes but Henryk was unbothered. They approached his bed and Shirou had to suppress the urge to get up in response.

"Good to see you too, Henryk," replied Shirou.

Henryk turned to Viola. "See? He's fine. Talking back and everything."

Fine was a way to put it. Not the first or hundredth in his list, but it was there.

"Is Gascoigne alright?" he said, relaxing his belly as gently as he could, trying to push himself up into a sitting position.

Viola recoiled and Henryk's eyebrows shot up. "That's the first thing you –" He shook his head ruefully. "Nevermind, should've expected it by now. He'll live," he said through his teeth. "Though I got half a mind to lock him in the basement and throw the keys off a cliff."

"Have a little compassion, father," said Viola, eyebrows scrunched together. "He is unwell." She forked her fingers through blonde hair, face contrite.

"So am I, Viola. I'm too old for this shit," he said. "Wait outside for a bit more, will you? I wanna have a few words with Shirou."

Her face tightened but she obliged, parting with a lingering look at Shirou.

'She looked different,' he thought. Subdued, quiet, unlike her usual proud self.

Henryk pulled out his hat. It was a sight reserved to inside the safety Gascoigne and Viola's home, revealing his short, blond hair, marked by tinges of gray and a receding hairline. Then, he lowered the fabric covering up to his nose, revealing a square jaw and a hawkish nose.

"You gave us a hell of a scare out there, lad," he said, sitting on a chair beside his bed, which creaked under him. He rested his elbows on his legs. "Thought you wouldn't make it."

Looking back, Shirou would've been fairly sure he wouldn't make it, too. "How did I?" he asked, dominated by morbid curiosity.

"We patched you as best we could – usually we'd just inject old blood in your leg but since you didn't go through the ministration..." He trailed off. "That magic of yours sure wasn't for show, I think." He gestured at Shirou's belly. "You survived because of it."

'Oh, right.' He had been reinforced and the Clockwise Metamorphosis rune bolstered his vitality and endurance. Still, that had been an unusual lucky break for him.

Silence reigned, undisturbed by any sound. This section of the clinic was quiet, empty save for them. Strange, for a place that should be crowded to the brim during a night of the hunt.

"You guys healed me with the old blood," he half-asked, half-pointed out.

"Aye, we did. No other way around it." He laughed somberly. "We needed a miracle to cover up the mess left by the older 'miracle'. Pretty convenient, ain't it?"

The thrumming under his skin, ominous and electrifying, began to make sense. His muscles seemed to coil with hidden strength, as if he could lift cars and jump over houses now.

Perhaps he could.

Henryk harrumphed. "Bah, don't think about it, lad. Let that go and focus on the important shit. You're alive and that's what matters."

Shirou nodded, mentally filing his observations for later. "Alright. Is Gascoigne here too? In the clinic?"

"Was, but we left him back home to rest. He needed it."

"His eyes..."

Bloody bandages covering his eyes. The implications were obvious, even in his current state.

Henryk exhaled. "Won't see a damn thing for the rest of his life," he said. "He got off easy. Acting like that, in front of everyone...he was lucky his 'friends' or the Crow didn't see him."

With these words, the harsh truth unveiled itself to him, cold and unforgiving.

He had reached a beast with his Structural Analysis, picturing in his mind's eye the underlying curse beneath its flesh. A single glance told him the beasts weren't always like that.

Instead of sharp claws, deformed limbs and thirst for blood, there had been average human limbs and a human's soul.

Hunters were killers. That was the unavoidable fact. Cleaners, who would sweep in and purge all evidence of the scourge, until all that remained was ash and cinders. And if they turned into beasts themselves, they would be the worst and most dangerous of them.

The dissonance between a Hunter and the Hero of Justice Emiya Shirou envisioned was clear as day. A Hero of Justice had to always win, or it was all meaningless. A Hero of Justice had to save everyone.

Was he greedy to want an ending where everybody was safe and happy?

'What you want is to save everyone,' Kiritsugu had said, a long time ago.

But a Hero of Justice could only save those he decided to save. Those within his reach and his capabilities. So little to be done. Such a limited capacity.

It rankled at him, made him feel like a rusting sword, brittle and useless. He couldn't – wouldn't accept it.

His hands clenched into fists, hardened like steel. 'I won't have people dying around me like back then. Even if it is impossible...'

He would've loped into Gascoigne's range a thousand times more if it meant saving a single person in danger. And in this unforgiving world, died in vain.

"Man...I'm really hopeless," he muttered in acceptance. Even though he could acknowledge there were several things off with his logic and even himself, Emiya Shirou welcomed his conclusions with open arms.

And now, armed with the blood infused into him, he could become a hero that could save others.

It was his responsibility. The only thing Emiya Shirou was passionate about. The ideal left by Kiritsugu on that moonlit night, entrusted to him to carry out in his father's final moments.

"You are," Henryk agreed. "But this whole city is hopeless, so you fit right in."

'Oh,' he thought. He had forgotten he wasn't alone. "I'll take that as a compliment," said Shirou.

Henryk chortled. "It wasn't, but sure." His chair groaned as Henryk's weight left it, and he leaned on the wall by Shirou's gurney. "Speaking of hopeless, I got a favor to ask you, Shirou."

"Sure, I can still clobber the beasts with my crutches, give me a second to get up."

"Not a hunting favor, you little shit." He sighed and crossed his arms. "I'll be out of town for a while so I want you to watch out for Gascoigne and Viola."

"You'll leave Yharnam? Right now? But Henryk-"

"I know it's not ideal, alright?" he said. "But it's something that has to be done. For Gascoigne's own good, if nothing else."

"But what exactly are you going after? Have you told Viola this yet?"

He ran a frantic hand on the top of his head. "Been there, done that. She's alright with it; she'll look after him and won't do anything crazy like going after Gascoigne during the hunt. Last time should've taught her that lesson. But, just in case, I want you to keep an eye on them." He looked at the door as if he could watch her through it. "She's a stubborn one. Not sure where she took that from," he mumbled.

"They'll lock themselves in the house, then?"

"Aye. They have enough to last for a couple of weeks, and it should be safe. Just in case, though..."

Shirou nodded. "Alright, I can do that. Doesn't Gascoigne have other friends to chip in?" The memory of Gascoigne's colleagues, clad in the same black outfit jumped to mind.

Henryk snorted. "I wouldn't trust his 'friends' with a dull kitchen knife," he said. "Have you never noticed how people look at him during the hunt? The civilians, especially."

Shirou thought long and hard. "Yeah, I think I did." There had been fearful, angry looks directed at him before, and a few hours ago Yhrnamites were ready to shoot his back.

And make songs to their glory of shooting a foreigner, probably.

It boggled his mind. Wasn't Gascoigne protecting them? He asked as much.

"Yharnamites aren't as fond of church people as they used to be. You know, there was a time this city didn't have beasts prowling around after their next meal. The Church had shown up with the old blood and suddenly a small town called Yharnam started branching out like nothing I'd ever seen. Even my wife couldn't resist the appeal to come and live here."

Shirou, for the life of him, couldn't imagine Yharnam without the hunt. The dark, moonlit nights of the city lived and breathed the intoxicating smells of the hunt, never once quiet or devoid of bloodshed.

A picture formed itself in his thoughts. What if an organization showed up with a miraculous cure that healed any disease, bolstered a person's abilities and was as intoxicating as any drug out there?

They would become the most powerful entity in the city, no questions asked.

Henryk continued. "The scourge started slow at first, or so they told me. The Church tried to cover it up, of course – the first hunters were deployed in secret, killing beasts and anyone showing signs of infection. By the time it reached where I lived, the beasts were everywhere in Yharnam. And I let my wife bring Viola to this place." His arms wrapped tighter around his chest. "Biggest mistake of my life."

"The Church tried to hide it? But why?" questioned Shirou.

"Because they are greedy fucks, that's why. Couldn't stand losing their power over the city. And Gascoigne mixed up with their sort. Thought he was doing good cleansing the streets from the beasts, protecting the good people of Yharnam." Henryk snorted. "But the Church hunters are backstabbing bastards. Doesn't matter if you're family, friend or some unlucky, sick-looking bastard. They'll lop off your head if they think you got the plague."

The population feared the Church hunters...

Trying to be a Hero of Justice while performing the actions of a Hunter. All of sudden, Henryk's skepticism at his views began to make sense, to his dismay.

Finally, it clicked in his mind...

Shirou, sat on the clinic's wooden gurney, looked Henryk in the eyes and asked. "You're going to look for a cure, right?" he asked, tone devoid of judgment.

Henryk's eyes widened and he opened his mouth as if to refute, but his impulse ebbed away. He exhaled a sigh, eyes shutting and tired.

"Right you are," he laughed, self-mocking. "though 'cure' is a strong word for it."

"It should be," he said, voice growing louder. "If this had a cure already, wouldn't they have distributed it? Even if they aren't good people, wouldn't it benefit them?"

"You think I don't know it's a long shot?" he ground out. "All the big-shots who could know something are hiding in the Upper Cathedral Ward, and none of the damn zealots that work for them down here would say a single word against the Church," he continued. "But I know of a place where the Church didn't sink their claws on."

"Where?" asked Shirou.

He exploded away from the wall and started pacing, as if to bleed out his anxiousness. "It's called Byrgenwerth. Rumor says it's where they first found the old blood and studied it. If there's a clue somewhere in this world, it should be there."

Shirou deflated, unconvinced by Henryk's argument but unwilling to call him out on it. He seemed desperate.

Henryk must have seen something in his expression, for he became incensed. "I know it sounds idiotic, dammit. It may be our last chance to cure Gascoing before everything goes to hell." He picked up his pace. "Life dealt me a shitty hand, Shirou. I'm old and now I realize I don't know how to save my friend, I don't know what the hell we're putting inside our bodies, I don't know shit!" He slammed his hand on the wooden wall, which rumbled and cracked in response." He seemed to register what he had done, and ran gloved hands over his face. "I don't know shit," he muttered. "If I don't do something, I might just..."

Shirou only stared at his shaky form, words having escaped him like as if he had been punched in the gut.

"If there's a chance to know what is going on, to find information, clues, it must be there. It must be."

Seeing his friend like this – because, in spite of how little they knew each other, Shirou already considered him a friend – he could only give one answer.

"It's like I said, Henryk. I'll look out for them; it's a promise."

The words took seconds to sink in, but Henryk straightened up. "Alright, thanks Shirou. I'll be in your debt."

Shirou shook his head. "No, you won't. You guys helped me more than you could ever know."

"Heh, suit yourself. Anyway, the sooner I leave the better, so focus on getting on your feet. Viola will stay with you for a while."

He turned on his heels and reached for the door handle.

"Wait, one more thing," said Shirou. "You've been calling me by my first name. Why is that?" Despite himself, a sense of camaraderie had grown on him, and he smiled.

Rearranging his garb, fabric already over his face, Henryk's lips seemed to curl with glee under it. "Sure I did. We're about as intimate as you can get."

That...wasn't quite the way he would've put it, but Shirou appreciated the sentiment. "Yeah, I think so. We've been hunting together for a couple of months now."

"No, I didn't mean that. I meant that I was inside of you."

Shirou's higher mental functions sputtered to a halt. "W-what?"

"I was inside of you. Pretty literally. Who do you think shoved your guts back where they belonged? Gascoigne? Hah!" Henryk laughed out loud. "Hell Shirou, the only one I've been more intimate with than that was my wife!"

"What the hell are you saying, you old creep?" Shirou shouted, his dignity rearing its wounded head in defiance. "Who jokes about things like that?"

"I do. Don't worry, I'll bring you a nice gift in compensation." He chortled. "It was a unique experience if nothing else. Any suggestions?"

"An earplug, so I won't have to hear you talking ever again!"

"The hell is an earplug?" he asked, puzzled but still amused.

Shirou made shooing motions. "Nevermind, just go!"

"Alright, alright. Kids these days, so ungrateful."

He left, steps making the wooden floor groan until Shirou couldn't hear them anymore. The newfound silence didn't last, as Viola strolled in, staring at him immediately. The weight of her attention brought back to the forefront the many kinds of pain he was under, even if the old blood likely soothed the worst of it.

She stood there, a few feet away, immobile.

"Um, hi," he said.

Had he been hit in the head along with his stomach too?

"Hello," she said, and came nearer, in front of the chair Henryk sat in minutes ago. She bent down in a slow movement, as if unsure, and sat daintily on it.

To her credit, even if she seemed as uncomfortable as he felt, she spoke first. "Father asked me to stay with you for a bit. The first transfusion can be daunting."

"Yeah, I've heard about it," he said.

Silence carried on after that, and Shirou wished for a book or an old machine he could tinker with, if only to escape the oppressive atmosphere. Viola stayed there, hands wringing and now looking anywhere but at him.

As Shirou scoped for ways to dispel the silence, she blurted out. "You didn't have to."

He blinked, shooting her a surprised look. "I didn't have to what?"

"Interfere. Put yourself in harm's way for my husband."

"I had to do all of that," Shirou denied. "I owed him that much and more."

Her face screwed up. "You didn't have to. Most wouldn't," she said.

"If I didn't, Henryk would've."

"Father is family. You owe us nothing," she said in finality, "but now I owe you more than you think. I am not a woman of many possessions, and cannot help you in your...activities " she said, lips set in a grim line. She reached inside her dress and snatched three vials, crimson, tainted liquid inside of them. "But please accept these. Now that you've been blessed by the old blood, these vials may save your life out there."

She extended her hands out to him, and Shirou obliged. He pocketed them, the vials now safe in his garb and looked her over, her grey eyes swelling.

"I'm sorry for how I've been treating you, young man. I'm often stubborn and not the easiest person to deal with. From the beginning, you showed nothing but good intentions towards my family and yet I insisted on pushing you away. Please accept my apology."

He smiled softly, Gascoigne's words coming back to him. She had warmed up to him, after all.

"It's alright. I wouldn't trust easily a stranger either."

She ran a slender finger over her eye. "If it isn't too much to ask..."

He interjected. "I'll keep looking after him. I promised Henryk as much."

"Thank you..."

They sat there in amiable silence, Shirou glad they had finally bonded with each other. Comfortable and serene, as if the pain and suffering had been just a bad dream, he was lulled into sleep hours later.

Outside, the world shifted, transitioning into a different, familiar state. The frontier between reality and dreams thinned with every second. The atmosphere was filled by a foreboding air as beasts multiplied and roared their challenge to any who dared oppose them. Those with sense locked their doors and prayed. The good samaritans steeled themselves for a long night. And those with a particular lust for blood prowled the streets, eager and rejoicing.

The Hunt had begun anew.

* * *

**And so it begins.**

**And sorry Flora, and F/SN girls I guess, but Henryk got there first.**

**...ew.**

**Anyway, it was nice to wrap this up as it was mostly talking, but now the plot is knocking on Shirou's door. Time to honor the damn contract, Shirou.**


	5. Interlude 1 - Fuyuki

**So, here's the first part of the Fuyuki interlude I promised. Unfortunately, real life calls and I have a super important test to study. Anything less than my 100% MAXIMUM NO CHILL won't do this time, so I won't be able to write for a few days.**

**Anyway, hope you guys enjoy it. It's a bit short but I think it did its job.**

* * *

**Interlude 1**

The bustling streets of Miyama rushed around her in an unintelligible blur as Tohsaka Rin ran faster than she ever had before.

She passed the city hall and its buildings, tall and reflecting the sunlight with their pristine windows. She ducked and weaved around the passerby.

The thought that her perfect school attendance was shot crossed her mind.

"Why am I thinking about that right now?" she cried, and attracted a few concerned looks that she paid no mind to.

Western-style houses, old but well-maintained by their wealthy owners, marked her arrival in the foreigners' district. Distantly, she saw her own house, located on the southern end of the district, and made a mental list of every jewel in her workshop that was combat-ready.

Just to be safe, she cataloged the most destructive ones as her priorities.

Rin turned a corner and spurred her legs into beating harder and faster against the ground, as if it was a mortal enemy she could stomp to death.

But the real enemy might have been lurking in her school, unassuming to everyone but her.

To her senses, it had been close to a predator broadcasting his intent to maul everyone near him to death. His prey, clueless, carried on with their normal lives.

A hill presented itself to her, the last resistance standing between her and her goal.

Drenched in sweat and lungs greedily siphoning every iota of air, she forced her aching legs to obey her. She grumbled all the way through. "Ugh, who made this hill so steep?"

And answering her prayers, more literally than ever, Fuyuki's church laid at the end of her path, perched on the hilltop. A wave of second wind hit her, and she sprinted across the threshold of the church's domain. Around her, the cobblestone floor was flanked by trimmed bushes. As the wooden doors of the Church entered her reach, she slammed them open with prejudice.

Its interior came into view. Familiar expansive walls, of a milky-white color, and floor lined by wooden benches. The church's single dweller's stood, still as a statue, beside the altar on the other end of the church. He watched the opened doors from above as if he had been expecting her all along.

Rin immediately disliked how he seemed to tower over her from his position.

"After refusing my every invitation, you barge into the Lord's domain unannounced. Whatever happened to your usual composure, Rin?"

Dressed in his clerical robes and being his usual, sardonic self, Kotomine Kirei greeted her.

"Cut the crap, Kirei," she spat. "We have an emergency and I need your help."

His eyebrows creased together for a second, but she didn't give care about his wounded feelings. Not today.

He smoothed out the annoyance from his face. "Very well, Rin," he said, smiling benevolently. "Your rudeness is appalling, but I will remember this occasion fondly as the first time you've ever depended on me." He spread his arms wide. "To what do I owe this unexpected visit, then? What is this emergency that had you in such flustered spirits?"

Her head pounded as if her brain wanted to burst out of her skull, and it wasn't just from all the running. Brain matter seemed to clench and convulse, shuddering in sudden insight. Sensations she couldn't explain, a fear of things she didn't know or understand coursed through her body. Words remained in a limbo, an inch out of her reach.

_dark underground layers, portals to an unknown world_

She bit her tongue, and the pain brought back much-needed clarity. "A classmate of mine," she said, finally, after what had seemed like hours. "He's reeking mana, and it's not the normal kind."

Kirei's lips curled down, watching her every movement with the eyes of a surgeon. "Is that all? Surely that can't be the emergency you spoke of? There's a myriad of possibilities that we could attribute to such event, and many of them aren't strictly dangerous."

"I know that!" she snapped, her wild heartbeat pounding in her chest.

She exhaled. '_Strive to maintain the proper flow. That is the Tohsaka family motto. It means always remaining reserved and elegant_'. Those were her father's words, some of his most important teachings for her.

Rin straightened her spine and armed herself with her most civil, conversational tone. "I'm saying it's not normal mana, Kirei. He isn't some kid with the potential to be a magus that just opened his circuits. I felt something like it before, back in the War. It's...dangerous. I know what I'm talking about."

She didn't, yet she did. Even if the specifics eluded her -

_children's corpses loitering the floor, their scalps torn off_

Rin knew in her heart that this was bad news.

In her innermost thoughts, she cursed her lack of knowledge, her inexperience. When she needed it the most, it seemed the world bent and distorted itself to make sure she would fail in the most spectacular way.

Perhaps if she had pursued her magus education full-time instead of fooling around in the school...

She shook her head. There was no use in drifting into what-ifs. The problem was pummeling on her door right now and she would be damned if she let it bring it down.

Kirei's eyes shut in contemplation, as if the seriousness of the situation had only now fallen on him. "Well, it is unlike you to make such bold claims on a whim." He stepped down from the altar, hands clasped behind his back. His voice echoed in the harrowing walls of the church. "And you haven't felt anything similar from this classmate of yours before?"

"Never," she said, shaking her head. "I would have known if he was a magus or had any magical talent in him."

"You would have." He agreed, for once acknowledging her skills. "And what is his name?"

The simple question brought her to a halt, as if handing out his name unleashed the entirety of its weight on her shoulders. She may have been signing his death warrant with this simple phrase. Rin steeled herself. "His name is Emiya Shirou."

But a magus wouldn't - shouldn't - be stopped by something so trivial.

Kirei's threw his head back. "Emiya...?" he mouthed. He turned around, hands still intertwined behind him. "God's plan works in mysterious ways. What a small world we live in." He laughed, his words infused by a shaky undertone. It was as if she had told him the most amusing joke he had ever heard.

To this day, she had never seen him laugh like that.

The strangeness of his behavior startled her. "What are you talking about, Kirei? This isn't a joke; I won't let you play around with me this time. Fuyuki is my responsibility, and I'll deal with this whether you'll help or not."

"Play around? Far from it, Rin. If the name Emiya is involved, the situation might be as serious as you seem to think." He looked up to the church's ceiling, as if waiting for divine inspiration to strike him. "After all, there was a magus with that very name that walked this city's streets years ago."

"A magus? Kirei, so help me God, if I have a rogue magus in my territory and you knew about it-"

"I guarantee you that you would be the first to know if I was aware of such thing, Rin," he said. "As far as I know, Emiya Kiritsugu has died a long time ago...though rogue isn't a bad word to describe him."

"Get to the point."

Strolling around like a lecturer dispensing his wisdom upon his students, Kirei said. "Emiya Kiritsugu was a heretic – by both the Church and the Association's standards – who used magecraft for his own means. He was an infamous assassin, specialized in killing other magi. He spent his career unaffiliated to any organization."

Her eyes went wide and her arm shot to her side. "And that guy might have been living in Fuyuki? All this time?"

A magus killer, setting a workshop in her city...

The world unveiled itself to her, a deadlier and more dangerous place. All these times she had left the safety of her Bounded Fields, to sit on the same steel chair for hours in school, walking the way back home all by herself, hanging out with Ayako on the weekends...

She might have been in mortal danger and would've never known until a spell hit her on the back.

Kirei shrugged, and his thrice-damned smile was back. "Who knows? But it would be quite the coincidence that a boy sharing his name, bearing a magus' power, living in this very city somehow wasn't connected to Emiya Kiritsugu. In this world of ours, abnormalities tend to gravitate toward each other."

She clasped her chin, mind racing. "Could Emiya have experimented with him?"

"Unlikely. As I said, Emiya Kiritsugu was not much of a magus." Kirei stopped on his tracks. "However..."

"What?" demanded Rin.

"Emiya's father, Emiya Norikata, was prosecuted by the Association for his experimentations to reach the Root." Kirei's face twisted. "And, like many before him, his research led to vampirism as both a cure for his mortality and an asset to his ultimate goal. The hubris of man..."

"Vampirism? No no no no no no," Rin chanted, uncaring of Kirei's lamentations. A possible Dead Apostle situation of all things? Her hands grasped the sides of her head. That had been one of the worst-case scenarios in her mind! A blood-sucking, nigh-immortal, resistant to magecraft creature; one of the most deadly predators in their world may have been skulking around her school right now?

Thoughts and ideas ran over each other, sending her mind into chaos. Did she run back to the school? Should she contact the Association? The Church? Should she set a trap for him? Should she-

"You don't do well with unexpected things, it seems." Kirei chuckled. "Unpreparedness will spell your defeat if you don't reign yourself in, Rin."

The underlying insult grated at her pride, but gave her a lifeline to cling to. "I know there's not a lot to act on," she began, "but if what you said is true, then we have probable cause for an investigation."

"Probable cause?" Kirei repeated, amused. "I suppose, if you care about such things. Very well, I will oversee this investigation personally since I have previous experience in these matters. It is my duty as the senior apprentice, no?"

Despite the clear jab in his words, the tension in her body was left a bit more bearable by them. A tentative smile formed in her lips.

Then, it occurred to her. "Wait a minute. You seem to know a lot about this Emiya guy," she prodded. "What gives?"

Kirei smiled. "But of course. It is only natural wanting to know more about a man whom I would fight to the death against." His voice went lower and nostalgic, as if he was recalling fond memories. "Nine years ago, I fought Emiya Kiritsugu for a prize you know all too well. Unfortunately, I only lasted until halfway through the War, but he left quite the impression on me and the other competitors."

"Wait a minute!" she exclaimed. "Are you talking about the Holy Grail War? Did he fight in it? Did you?"

He chuckled. "Yes for all accounts," said Kirei. "But as I said, I didn't last until the end of it – not like Emiya. Ultimately, he was the one left standing above all competitors as the winner of the Holy Grail War."

"Then Emiya Kiritsugu made a wish for the Grail?"

That could be problematic – or more like disastrous. A magus, armed with an omnipotent wishing device could achieve anything they set their minds to.

Kirei's face sagged with regret. "No. Emiya Kiritsugu betrayed the Grail at the very end, and was deemed unworthy of the prize. He left the war with scars that no magecraft could heal. By my estimates, he shouldn't have lasted longer than four years."

"Four years..." she echoed.

Kirei was an expert in healing magecraft, having a gift even her father had praised as extraordinary. If he said Emiya would've died from those wounds, then that was his opinion as a specialist.

"Even so, he might have left instructions for his son." Such was the way of magi, after all. Parents guarded the secrets of their craft so they could be passed on to and honed by the family's next generation. "Could Emiya have left knowledge on becoming a vampire to his son?"

"Again, I doubt it, but at this point any more speculation is useless. Rest assured, Rin. As a man of the cloth, it is my duty to see the Lord's will done." He smiled. "If this...Emiya Shirou poses a threat to it, then I will eliminate him with extreme prejudice."

She nodded. "Yeah. I'll be counting on you, then." Her hand fell on her waist. "Why didn't you ever tell me you participated in the war? That sounds like something I should've known."

A moment that seemed to stretch for ages went on. Kirei had unleashed another of his deafening silences that ravenously consumed any joy or hope in the room.

She had been in enough masses held by him to know that was an actual skill of his.

"You never asked," he said, voice plain as paper. "And you never visit, either. Such an ungrateful apprentice doesn't deserve the wisdom of their elders."

Rin twitched. Her hands trembled with rage, and she was torn between pulling on her own pigtails or beating Kirei's smug face in. She knew was a moot point. She wasn't capable of it – not yet.

She settled for a more lady-like response, bereft of violence, and simply showed him the finger. Kirei's face scrunched up, offended, and glared at her.

In her defense, it had been a hard day.

She turned on her heels in a dignified manner. "Alright, then call me when you're done investigating. I'll go fetch my gems and see if father left anything useful for this kind of situation. Bye, you fake-priest," said Rin, waving the back of her hand to him.

She left without waiting for his response. Bright sunlight greeted her outside, a hot blanket forming over the city. It reminded her of how early it still was.

Her mission done and the urgency to act finally over, memories bubbled back, unbridled. Memories that she had suppressed for a long time.

_"Hey, little girl," the murderer said, eyes glinting feverishly. "D'you think if I carve your skull open there'll be eyes on your brain too?"_

A shiver wracked Rin, and she crossed her arms around her despite the warmth outside. It had been nine years ago, but Ryunosuke's features, contorted with madness, remained clear as day. So were the corpses of children he left behind, having been twisted by something she didn't understand.

And if Emiya Shirou presented half the threat Ryunosuke had been, she would end him.

For the sake of everyone...and herself.

* * *

**And there you go.**

**Now, is this mostly Rin's plan or Kirei's plan? It's actually a really important question. Depending on the answer, the plan will go wrong or terribly, terribly wrong.**

**The Fuyuki cast began to be introduced, so things will get a lot more hectic for Shirou.**


	6. Interlude 2 - Fuyuki

**Well, just like I promised, here it is!**

**I didn't like it as much as the last few chapters, but I hope you can enjoy it anyway. I'll probably make a few changes tomorrow when I'm less tired.**

* * *

**Interlude 2**

After the bell rung, Shirou exited the white and grey halls of Homurahara. Along with him, hundreds of students chattered and bid their goodbyes. He walked into the Fuyuki's streets, the orange-gold of the setting sun stretching far and wide.

Returning to this routine always made his head spin, taking him back to easier times. Before he woke up in a strange land filled with beasts and madness.

Yesterday, he had almost died, bisected by the ax of a friend and then healed by magical blood. Today, he sat in a school chair and learned japanese, history and geography.

Would Gascoigne's family be fine if he wasn't around to look after them right now? Was Gascoigne okay? Did Henryk come closer to find the truth, whatever it was?

His pace picked up, only vaguely aware of the crowds and noises of modern civilization.

At least he wasn't in pain anymore. He had managed to close his circuits, thanks to a surge of insight. All he had needed was a mental image to aid the process.

And there was so much more to experiment with. How powerful would his spells be now? Would the same steps he had always used work? Would his rate of success improve with his new circuits?

So lost in his theories, Shirou only came to himself when he saw where his feet had taken him.

A wide vegetation spanned beneath and around him, illuminated by the sunset's rich red and orange hues. Unkempt bushes were lined up and loose logs with branching twigs littered the ground. Thin, leafless trees completed the sight in front of him.

The Shinto Park...

Perhaps it was only natural that he came here after brushing so close to death.

"Man, they really let this place go," he said out loud. It was a shame, since it would always carry the burden of being the place of a disaster looking this abandoned.

Something reverberated at the edge of his consciousness, and he frowned. It had been like the sensation of a beast watching him. Eyes sweeping his surroundings for threats, Shirou bent down. His fingers brushed on the dry grass and he peered around him, circuits ready to be engaged for the second time.

Darkness thrummed, wanting to consume him. His hand that had been touching the grass curled, frozen by his fear as curses came from below.

_diediediediediediedie_

His eyes went wide, almost popping out of their sockets. Reality staggered, and far up in the sky, he saw the black hole, wanting to consume him whole. He tried to run but his legs were frozen, he tried to scream but his mouth was burned dry. Something oozed from the hole, a liquid thick and venomous -

"Goood afternoon!"

Shirou jumped, hand flying away from the ground as a voice came from beside him. The vision was gone, even if his wild heartbeat remained.

"Is something wrong, onii-san?" he asked, scrutinizing Shirou with his head tilted as Shirou stared.

Blood pounded in his skull, thick and heavy. The world seemed to wrench around the boy. It was a blond kid with intense, ruby eyes, and his mere presence distorted the air and pervaded it with overflowing, gold mana. He towered over anything Shirou had ever seen.

Shirou had leaped from one terrifying sight to the other.

Whatever this was, no matter how it looked, it wasn't a child.

And it was here, in the scene of the crime, stepping on cursed grounds and none worse for the wear.

"Who are you?" said Shirou, the image of his Saw Cleaver loaded and ready in his mind. He had never projected a weapon, only bullets, but having met this boy certainty filled him. He fell into his fighting stance.

It wouldn't be a fight he could win without a weapon.

The thing regarded him with pursed lips. "That's a difficult question. I don't mean you any harm though, so you don't need to be so jumpy, onii-san."

His hands clenched, grasping a handle that wasn't there. The headache made it difficult to concentrate. "How difficult can it be to tell who you are?"

It shrugged. "Very, if you lived a life worth telling." With a spring on his step, he pulled himself on a nearby bench with his arms and sat, legs dangling in the air. He patted the seat beside him. "Come, have a seat."

"I'm fine, thanks."

Its cheeks puffed. "Rude. That attitude, the leaking mana and the murderous aura aren't doing you any favors, onii-san."

He wasn't surprised that a being made out of mana could sense his active circuits, but he knew nothing of a murderous aura. Yet, the times when he had faced powerful beasts, their predatory eyes locked on him as they pounced told him that there was such a thing as killing intent.

"Murderous aura?" he prodded.

"You are carrying the echoes of hundreds of dead creatures all over your body. You reek of murder, onii-san. The average person might not notice, but for someone sensitive, it'll be like you killed your enemies and are now wearing clothes made of their skin in broad light." It gave a rueful smile. "You should be careful with that. It isn't pleasant."

Like a movie, his first night on Yharnam played in his mind. Trapped in a dead-end, beasts on one side and a sturdy brick wall on the other, no weapon in hand and very little hope left.

Then, Gascoigne. His ax in hands in its extended form, swinging in wide arcs and maintaining the beasts away, attacking with as much ferocity as his opponents. Even if he was being saved, what filled his thoughts had been the smell of rotting corpses and violence, of dead, unblinking eyes and bloodshed.

What would he see if he Analyzed himself?

Shirou took a step back. "You...aren't a normal kid."

"And you are very perceptive, onii-san," he chirped. "Though I guess you've been getting better. I noticed that you sensed the lingering malice in this land?"

The black hole, dark and ominous, came to the forefront of his thoughts. "You can feel it too?"

It groaned as if it was a minor inconvenience. "Yes. Unfortunately, I can't help it. Someone like me is far more attuned to the workings of spiritual beings than the average person. So are you, for different reasons."

Whoever this was, it knew things. Somehow, Shirou didn't think the thing wearing a boy's skin was a liar. Instinct, maybe. It spoke with carefree confidence, like this was a dance that he knew all the steps of while Shirou fumbled in the dark.

With a conscious effort, he calmed his heartbeat.

'Might as well give it a shot, then.'

"Is this place possessed?"

It shook its head. "No, nothing like that. The malice is merely the echo of a nasty presence that overstayed its welcome. It was strong enough to burrow into this soil and curse it, but it doesn't do much other than making people uncomfortable. In the hands of a competent magus it could be a powerful weapon, I guess."

For a moment, he was among burning buildings and cries for help. "The fire...you're saying that the fire was caused by a curse?" he said, stomping the memories away.

Even before the answer came, he accepted it as a fact.

That hellish landscape, the way fire consumed ravenously everything in its path and the black hole...

"Yes, thousands of them – some of the worst I've ever seen. Bad decisions were made and it was unleashed through the city, killing as many as five hundred. Others were more fortunate," it said, looking at him.

"Yeah," said Shirou. It knew too much. "If they are so powerful, why did I never feel this before then?"

He had been here long enough, in enough occasions that he should've been able to tell.

"Simple! You just weren't looking close enough, or maybe just hadn't seen enough?" He mused. "But by now you've seen many interesting things, right, onii-san?" It patted the seat again. "Wanna talk about them?"

Shirou steeled himself, and under the boy's watchful gaze he sat, ready to strike back like a loaded gun.

"Does the name Yharnam mean anything to you?" he asked, locking eyes with it.

It looked up, like it was searching for Yharnam in the skies and then back to him. "Of course. It is a town cursed to consume itself until nothing remains. You've been visiting it by means you don't understand, and want to know more about it."

Shirou stumbled in his words. "How-" He stopped, centering himself. "Have you been there?" he choose to ask instead.

"Not personally, no, but others of my kind and I dealt with some of its...dwellers almost a decade ago. I don't need to see it up close, though. Perks of being me!" it said, throwing a fist up.

By then it should've been a baby, but there were more pressing concerns than that. He could feel his blood pressure rise in response to its cryptical, throwaway comments. It also saw through him like it was skimming through a file.

Yet, Shirou still could still sense no dishonesty from his words.

"When you say I've changed...you don't mean just the blood, do you?"

It gave an infectious smile. "I retract what I said! You're sharper than you look, onii-san!" His legs began dangling faster with its upbeat mood.

And it was still casually insulting him. Strangling it would do him no favors; he might even get arrested for it by some unsuspecting officer. Saying that it wasn't human would only get him cuffed faster.

Or the worst case, in which the boy went all out and murdered him with abilities Shirou didn't know.

'Why do I have to lose in every scenario?'

That was becoming a recurring theme with him.

It continued, oblivious to his thoughts. "You did. Being capable of sensing the evil reeking in this land is proof of that, even if it's just a side-effect of your new abilities." It hummed. "To put it simply, you've become better at seeing through the fragile illusion of reality!"

The urge to strangle it intensified. "That isn't simple at all," he said with a dry tone.

"Well, I suppose it's not. Luckily, you have those symbols to make it easier. They can pack an awful lot of ideas into a single image."

Shirou flinched. It knew about his Runes too?

And here it was, still talking to him with no care in the world, well aware of his magic and other tricks.

However...

"What do you know about the Scourge of the Beast?" he asked.

It was being upfront with information and had made no move to attack him. In that case, he could still try gaining something out of this. And whatever the boy told him, he could run by Henryk and Gascoigne later.

Its face darkened. "That the ones who unleashed it should've known better. Unfortunately, what makes humanity great often leads it to its own downfall. Back then, they lacked a convenient force to nudge them in the right direction, or away from the wrong one."

After a few moments of consideration, in which he tried and failed to glean what it meant by 'convenient force', Shirou asked. "You mean the Church, right?"

It looked at him, and the sensation of being examined under a microscope intensified. "I know what you're thinking, and the situation is not so simple. Dealing with this Church won't stop the disease, because the disease has always been there."

Henryk's rants and conversations with Gascoigne had told him otherwise. "No, it hadn't. People only started turning into beasts when they used the old blood."

"Not quite," was the response. It scratched its chin. "That blood flowing in your veins, for better or for worse, unlocked in you two different potentialities." He raised a finger. "If you'll achieve one of them will depend on the decisions you make and how far you want to go."

"Becoming a beast isn't a decision."

"You think so?" it pondered. "I take it you've looked into the infected. What did you see?"

Animalistic flesh pulsing with power. Injuries from being stabbed and shot at. A Rune, Clockwise Metamorphosis, symbolizing its enhanced vitality and strength.

His skull throbbed and shuddered. _Don't look deeper._

"Push yourself further," it said. "You want the truth, no matter how inconvenient or painful, wasn't it?"

The words struck a chord. He dove into the memory, past the pain and his apprehension.

_Don't look deeper. Don't look deeper._

He had followed the advice before.

Acid poured into his brain. The image of a claw, with its long and spindly fingers burned in his mind. His body convulsed.

But Henryk thought it was important to find the truth.

If that was the case...

'Don't look deeper.' The reasonable, afraid, part of him chanted.

Shirou looked deeper.

He blinked. Through his blurry vision, he saw his hand had morphed into a furry appendage. Steely-looking muscles were visible underneath and wicked claws as sharp as blades replaced his nails.

_'It was always like this,_' the voice said, and Shirou nodded in agreement. It wouldn't feel so right otherwise, would it?

_'It feels right, doesn't it?'_

Yeah...

_'This is who we are. Why not go the whole way? Embrace it.'_

His limbs tingled pleasantly, flesh shifting into its true form, and he felt gentle, warm hands guiding him somewhere. Worries and cares melted away and he felt light.

Yes...this was who he was meant to be...

A hand patted him on the back.

Shirou lurched, an explosive gasp unleashed from his mouth. He whirled at the source.

The boy looked at him with a frown. "Not so deeply, dummy."

"...it's in us," said Shirou, his world turned upside-down.

The boy gazed at him, his cheerful demeanor gone. "Yes. That particular inclination has always existed in every human that walked the face of this planet and others. It's nothing more than giving form to humanity's baser, beastly instincts." His lips curled. "Quite the pessimistic picture, isn't it? That, underneath their civility and accomplishments, they all have a monster lurking inside of them."

Yharnam's savagery remained clear even in his foggy mind.

It sighed. "In a way, though, you could say that those commune with it and embrace those instincts may reach an enlightenment of sorts. That's why it felt so good for you."

"Enlightenment?" snapped Shirou, too aware of how close he came to losing himself. "How can you say that? All they do is kill and destroy!"

Ruby, inhuman eyes assessed him. "Isn't enlightenment shedding the parts of us that hold us back from reaching our full potential? Stripping away our undesirable parts until all that remains are the good ones?" it argued. "Some try to attain it through their bodies; some through their faith; the monks in this city's temples try to erase their egos." The boy chuckled. "Though I'll admit I find that distasteful, even if I can't argue with the results."

"That's probably your big ego talking," said Shirou, not feeling charitable to the boy.

Its chin jutted up. "Having a big ego is the prerogative of a King, mister!" The boy raised a finger. "Anyways, notice that I said those who communed with their instincts. You see, there's a difference between someone who became infected and someone who understood their sickness and decided to embrace it. By succeeding at that, they are free from compassion, empathy and guilt."

'Free from guilt?' the thought came. Of all three it mentioned, it was the most alien to think getting rid of.

It tapped rhythmically the wood under it. "Imagine that, being free to sate your every desire however you want, whenever you want, without ever feeling bad about it. Some would say there is a certain freedom to that."

"Some are wrong," said Shirou. "You can't just erase pain like that."

It gave him a brilliant smile. "We are in complete agreement. I expected you to think so; you learned much from your pain, didn't you?"

"...yeah, I think I did."

It came as natural as breathing to him ever since the fire.

"Great! I wish there could be more people like you. My older self would be a much more accommodating person."

"Older sel-" Shirou shook his head. "Nevermind, I'm not touching that. You said there was another path; one that isn't turning into a beast. What is it?"

"Can't say."

"What? But-"

"Nu-huh. Can't say."

One minute ago it was loving the sound of its own voice! What the hell?

It rose its hands in self-defense. "Hey, please don't be mad at me. If I told you, you would leap into dangerous things without a second thought. It's better if you have time to get sturdier before knowing too much."

"What exactly would happen if you told me?"

"Tentacles," it declared. "You would grow into this weird creature with pointy tentacles for arms."

"...don't make things up because you don't want to tell me it."

"I don't lie, I'm a King!"

Shirou was looking forward to the beasts. At least they made more sense than this kid and the rollercoaster of emotions he was going through.

"Don't be so down. I still have more to teach you, onii-san! Let's go back to our talk about enlightenment. What does it mean for you?

"I don't understand."

"Well, what does your ideal self look like?"

Kiritsugu's visage, his weary but hopeful eyes looking at him came to his mind. A smile blossomed on his face, soothing the exhaustion he was feeling.

The Hero of Justice who had saved him.

Its eyes scrunched. "Hmm...borrowing someone else's dream?" It beamed. "Well, so long as you follow it honestly and wholeheartedly, I approve!"

"And why should I care about a random kid's approval?" was his merciless rebuttal.

It made an exaggerated tired face. "I told you onii-san, I'm not a random kid, I'm a King! My approval should mean a lot to you as one of my subjects."

Shirou looked up, and saw the sun had been chased out, and the night was coming, along with a Moon that seemed so far away. How long had he been here?

As many questions as he had in his mind, he had a hunch that he would see the boy again. With tiredness creeping in and making him sluggish, he had gotten enough to call it a day.

"Sure, but isn't this Your Majesty's time to go to bed?"

It made a face. "By the Gods, you sound like Siduri," it mumbled. "That's not a good look on you, onii-san!"

"Yeah, I'm leaving now, you crazy kid."

"Okay, I'll look for you when I want to talk more!" it said, jumping off its seat.

But as Shirou rose up, he pondered. He had seen much, and been changed for it. The future had even more reserved for him, and he had as many questions as there were stars in this night sky, but right now, only one mattered.

It looked at him in expectance.

"How do I stay myself?"

It grinned.

"You endure hell, Emiya Shirou."

It turned and sprinted with the energy of a child, yelling a quick 'bye onii-san', going to some hideout or workshop, he thought.

'Endure hell...'

Shirou tucked his hands in his pockets and smiled. "Yeah, that goes without saying," he said to no one in particular.

He had never expected any other way.

"Oh, and stop thinking of me as an 'it'." Shirou heard from afar. "It's terribly rude. Call me Gil, onii-san!"

Gil waved at him one last time and took off.

Shirou watched him running and shook his head. "Man, I miss the times Fuji-nee was the weirdest thing on my day."

Then, he left the cursed park too, having learned much and yet nothing at all.

Shirou walked Fuyuki's streets at a serene pace, the Moon high in the sky. It glowed a deep silver; an inert, uncaring orb that was so far away. He received an earful when he got home late into the night for it. He talked, joked, socialized, went through motions that were more comfortable today.

Perhaps he had missed them, after all.

Then, after dinner and homework, when the city went quiet and all the lights were off, he went to his shed to tinker and practice.

And within, laid a strange lantern.

* * *

**To be honest, I'm rushing a bit to get to the next chapters. I'm getting a little tired of writing Shirou so out of his depth. Every conversation has been earth-shattering and all that.**

**I want to write some GAR dammit.**


	7. Chapter 5

**I propose a little game. Every time the word 'blood' is mentioned in this fic, everyone takes a shot.**

**And thus, I become a mass-murderer. Bloodborne fics are fun, right?**

**Anyway, here's the new chapter as promised.**

* * *

**Chapter 5**

_Surrounded by a cloud of incense, Gascoigne sat on cobblestone floor, staring transfixed at the scene. Shirou executed the black, giant crow with a final thrust in its chest, puncturing bone and flesh in a single go. It died with a wet, pained gurgle, its blood pooling beneath large wings and overgrown belly._

_Shirou's coiled limbs relaxed, and he checked his surroundings. He inspected behind the nearby boxes, roofs and even lamposts. Along the way, the music of crunched bones and torn flesh had become a reassuring sign of victory. Gascoigne's gaze remained on the corpse of the beast, an unsettling intensity burning in his eyes._

_"Gascoigne?"_

_The hunter's head snapped to his direction and he shuddered as if shaking off something. "I'm sorry, I was just thinking. You did well Shirou, I'm impressed by how far you came along."_

_Shirou nodded and walked over to the safe zone, dragging his limp leg on the floor. The crow, in its flailing, had cut a nasty wound on his shin. He plopped down beside Gascoigne and took deep, soothing breaths._

_"It's all thanks to you and Henryk. I would've died if it weren't for you." His voice grew wry. "Many, many times."_

_Gascoigne laughed, a rumbling, throaty sound. "You would've," he said, not meaning any harm. "Remember, you have to be aggressive. The beasts will take any opportunity to sink their teeth on you. Most of them won't mind impaling themselves in your weapon to get a single, clean hit."_

_"I will."_

_But even if Gascoigne's advice was sound, the fact that they had to be as vicious as the beasts nagged at his mood. Both sides had to fight with savage abandon, throwing themselves in harm's way to score as many blows as they could._

_Hunters were better trained and had tools to assist them along with a human mind, but the way they fought wasn't so different from the beasts..._

_He massaged his temples. He was more tired than he thought if he was thinking crazy things like these. It was brutal, merciless work; dirty, as Henryk always put it, but Hunters helped people. They were the first and last line of defense Yharnam had against the beasts._

_"Everything all right?" asked Gascoigne._

_"Yeah, I'm ok. Just a little tired."_

_Gascoigne hummed. "No, that won't do at all. One cannot hunt on a weary spirit," he said with the tone of a well-rehearsed adage. "Let's take a break, yeah? Oedon Chapel is not far from here; you can get some shut-eye there."_

_"I'm fine," he said automatically. Shirou threw him a questioning look. "I thought the Chapel stayed close during the nights of the hunt?"_

_"It does. Luckily for us, I have a little something that will help us in."_

_Gascoigne tugged under his collar and reached down, plucking a small necklace underneath. A key was tied on a length of strong cord._

_Shirou blinked. "You have the key?"_

_"A key," corrected Gascoigne. "An old spoil of war from my times working for the Church. They leased the place to us hunters so we could have somewhere to rest in and gear up." Gascoigne fiddled with it, pensive. "It fell a bit out of use - Church hunters aren't as organized as they used to be. But, if you ever need a safe haven from the Hunt, the Chapel is your place. Gods know I do in the bad nights, and Viola and Arabella know the way by heart."_

_He filed the information for later. Perhaps, if he found someone lost in the chaos of the hunt, he could direct them to the Chapel._

_"That's where you were a priest?"_

_Gascoigne let out a quiet snort. "By the gods, no. Like this key, that title is another relic from simpler times. I was a priest in mine and Henryk's hometown, but not for long. Just for a couple of months before I quit."_

_"Priestly life didn't suit you?" teased Shirou, but received no response._

_Gascoigne's fingers dug into his legs. "No point in having faith when a different church can mass-produce miracles," he stated. "The gods I believed in had many stories and songs dedicated to them, and many feats to their names, but those belonged to the realm of the divine. We had dozens of tales of their courage, love and sorrows," he continued, "but in Yharnam you could be graced with a miracle through a simple few drops of blood. No faith needed."_

_Having met with the monks in the Ryudoji temple, Gascoigne's words sounded absurd. Shirou remembered their unshakeable faith and steadfast belief in their teachings. Would they remain faithful in the face of such things?_

_Gascoigne's shoulders sagged. "I miss it, though," he said._

_"You miss what?"_

_"The old formalities. Going to mass every morning, sitting on the benches along with family and friends, the sermons." He trailed off. "And even us who worked with the Healing Church, know very little about the gods we're worshipping. No legends, no fables; they always seem so very distant..."_

_Shirou mulled over Gascoigne's words, and a thought occurred to him. "Maybe that's a good thing?" At Gascoigne's questioning look, he elaborated. "If people keep depending on miracles they won't do much by themselves."_

_If gods could be summoned over and make every little issue disappear, no one would be able to grow from their experiences. People who worked hard should be rewarded the most. That's how things should be._

_Gascoigne belly laughed. "You are pretty wise for a young boy, Shirou. Where did you come from again? Henryk and I keep arguing over it and I think none of us are close to the mark."_

_"You guys have been talking about me?"_

_He had shared very few about Fuyuki, Japan and modern times. Not out of any desire to hide his past from them, but because of a nagging fear. Would telling them break some metaphysical law he didn't know about? Paint a target on his back and theirs?_

_He smiled wryly. 'Thanks for the lessons, Kiritsugu.'_

_Learning Reinforcement didn't prepare you for interdimensional (interplanetary? Time-travel?) situations. Who would've guessed?_

_"Ah, but my money is a land from the far east. Old Yamamura's name was pronounced like yours, and that's where he came from."_

_"I'll tell you when you guys teach me how to become a master hunter."_

_"In that case, we'll both have to wait for a long time."_

_They chuckled at that. The smoky incense floated up in a hypnotic sway, and the night was unusually quiet. It was as if an unspoken agreement between hunters and beasts had been issued, and the day was reserved for recharging their batteries._

_Shirou turned to Gascoigne. "Doesn't the Healing Church has rituals? Prayers?"_

_Now that he thought about it, he couldn't picture the Yharnamites being religious as he saw it. Praying, meditating, following a code of morals and ethics. They seemed more likely to gather in a church and exchange scathing stories about foreigners. Pompous, prejudiced outsiders getting what they had coming in the most gruesome manners._

_He had watched more than a few times that scene. It was hard to forget considering the jeers and non-subtle glares thrown at him._

_"Oh, a few," said Gascoigne, stroking his goatee. "But they don't seem very important. The vicars keep telling us that, more important than any prayer is the act of communing with the gods. We do that through the old blood." His jaw tensed. "They even give us a little reminder so we never forget it."_

_Gascoigne pulled the sleeve of his grey vest down to his elbow. Carved on the skin of his forearm in a vivid red, there was an inscription written in jagged letters._

_"Seek the old blood," whispered Shirou, his eyes wide at the wounds._

_Gascoigne pulled it back. "It's an excerpt of a prayer," he explained. "Some folks have the entire thing inscribed on their bodies. It doesn't heal either; I've tried."_

_The thought of Yharnamites being willing to disfigure themselves like that horrified him. "Does Henryk have that written on him too?"_

_Gascoigne barked out a laugh. "Hah! I would like to see anyone try to convince that old dog to do something like this, preferably from a safe distance." He shook his head. "But don't get Henryk started on religion. Not unless you have time and patience on your side."_

_Of all the people Gascoigne could've mentioned, Shirou wasn't expecting Henryk. The man was a skeptic through and through. "What's Henryk's religion?"_

_"Vermin."_

_"Vermin?" echoed Shirou, bemused._

_That was a...unique religion, and that was saying something in a land where the main object of worship was blood._

_"Aye. Hates the little things; says they're the root of all evil. I've never seen one up close, or seen it at all, but Henryk swears they are there, inside of everyone."_

_"So...he thinks we are infected with parasites?"_

_"No, not you. Just anyone with the old blood running in their veins, which is pretty much the entire Yharnam." He shook his shoulders. "Though I guess it's not a religion so much as a cult, but they have meetings and athe whole thing. He doesn't talk much about it; doesn't wanna get into a scuffle with the Church's zealots."_

_"I didn't take Henryk for a religious guy."_

_Gascoigne grinned. "Oh, trust me, I was surprised too. And here's the kicker: only him and the so-called 'confederates' can see these vermin, but he swears on his mother's name that they exist."_

_"I guess I just won't bring it up around him, then."_

_It seemed the safer option. The teeth on Henryk's cleaver were very intimidating, all the more when he got incensed._

_"Smart boy." Gascoigne looked at him. "Do you have faith, Shirou?"_

_"I'm not religious, no."_

_Gascoigne barked a laugh. "Loosen up, I'm not talking about religion, necessarily. One must have something they believe in. In my home, everyone prays to Oedon, the Formless. Even if he isn't hearing, it is good to believe that someone is looking out for us. Helps us stay grounded. That's what matters in the end."_

_Shirou closed his eyes in contemplation. "I don't have a religion," he said, "but I guess I have something that keeps me grounded."_

_"What is it?"_

_"A dream," said Shirou, unwilling to elaborate. It may be the thing he was most passionate about, but he had enough experience to know others' reactions to it. Every time he was met with disbelief or even amusement at his expense._

_"A dream is fine too. I have one, for me and for my family. One day I want to take them away from all the beasts and insanity." Gascoigne smiled. "Imagine that. Arabella growing up in a nice neighborhood, with all the toys she wants and plenty of kids to play with. A nice, cozy home. Safe streets so me and Viola can take the midnight walks she loves without beasts nipping at our heels. Somewhere I can rest..."_

_And as he told it, his smile was chipped away and his tone grew melancholic. Gascoigne looked down, an invisible weight draping on his shoulders._

_Shirou put a hand on his shoulder. "I'll help any way I can."_

_The old hunter smiled, a weak, brittle twist of his lips. He sprung to his feet and offered his calloused hand to Shirou. "Come on, let's go to the chapel. One cannot hunt on an empty stomach either."_

_Shirou took it and rose, silently promising himself that he would do exactly as he said._

_They deserved nothing less._

* * *

Fog filled his mind. He stood on nothing, and the four cardinal directions lost their meaning.

Then, a pale light flickered, floating in the absolute darkness. Instinctively, he walked towards it, hand stretched to grab it.

As he drew near and knelt near it, Shirou reached for the light. It seemed to be imprisoned in a hanging lantern, and suddenly there was a floor under his feet and walls around him.

Shirou blinked. The scenario around him had changed. He wasn't in his shed anymore, investigating the strange lantern in the middle of his things.

And underneath the light of the lantern, he saw familiar figures. They babbled with their cavernous mouths and gazed up to it in adoration. The bony-white creatures had their lower bodies encased in a cloud of billowing smoke. They seemingly crossed down the wooden floor, and the creatures formed a circle around the lamp.

Peering at them, he could now see they had a prominent ribcage and large heads in comparison to the rest of their bodies.

Memories of them crawling over his body rushed back and so did-

_"We shall rectify that. All you need is a contract," he said._

That man, the one who had treated him...who was he? What did he mean with a contract?

_"You need only unravel its mystery."_

The words came back, dripping in through the darkness of his memories.

Paleblood...

He made to touch one of the creatures but stopped, hand a few inches away from the head of it. There was no danger emanating from them; no bloodlust or weapons in hand, but he shouldn' take any chances.

Not until he knew what exactly they were.

Shirou surveyed his surroundings. Beneath him, wooden tiles had been ripped asunder. Many were discarded on the floor, leaving the structures beneath open to see. There were seats annexed on the left and right sides of the room, and disorder reigned in both. Medical tools were strewn on them.

Veritable mountains of book pages – medical in nature, as he checked – were strewn about as well. A chair equipped with more restraining tools was upside down, its shackles overturned.

"Beasts," muttered Shirou. Only they could cause this much havoc.

The constructions of this place were familiar, of course. Here, his life had been saved, and if he wasn't mistaken, he was in a waiting room of sorts.

He looked behind him and saw the high flight of stairs, and walked his way up. Up there he found a door. The walls to its sides had deep gashes on them, like flesh-wounds caused by a beast. The door's windows had bits of them smashed by an unknown force.

Shirou knocked on it.

Moments later, a trembling voice responded. "Hello? Are you a hunter?"

"Miss Iosefka?" he said. "It's me, Shirou."

"Oh!" she exclaimed. "Thank goodness you are well. I didn't know what to do after you disappeared like that. You gave us quite the scare, young man."

"Disappeared?" muttered Shirou. That was right, he only had a physical presence in Yharnam when he was dreaming.

And now, for some reason, that had changed after his transfusion.

"Did Viola go home then?" he asked.

"She did. She took Father Gascoigne to rest. It is a night of the Hunt, but with the good Father along with her I doubt anything bad happened to them."

Her words didn't assuage all his worries. He had a promise to keep to Henryk and so he would pay their house a visit later in the night.

Shirou nodded even though she couldn't see him. "You're right. Thank you for your time, miss Iosefka." He stopped on his tracks. "Is there anything I can do to help? Your clinic should be full of people now, right?"

"Thank you for your kind offer, young man. I have enough supplies to last through the night, but please, do bring some extra Blood Vials if you find them on your hunt."

"I will. It's the least I could do; I wouldn't be here if it weren't for you."

This wasn't her first hunt so he would trust that she knew what she was doing.

Even if the damaged door and ruined room filled him with unease.

"Thank you again, young man. Words like yours renew the spirit of a weary doctor like myself," she said, voice livelier.

He turned on his heel, returning to the strange lantern's room.

The room after the one he was summoned in was enshrouded in pitch-black darkness. 'I should learn to project lighters.' They were more practical than carrying torches or lamps. That way, he wasn't going to get off guar-

A growl rippled through the still air. Shirou hunkered down low and held back a curse as the floor groaned. Wasn't the clinic supposed to be safe? He lingered, partially hidden behind an empty gurney – there were many of them. The room was filled with them and the furniture was stacked with rows upon rows of flasks.

Sounds he knew all too well followed. Wet splatters, the rancid rippling of flesh.

The only way out of the clinic was through it.

He craned his head and sharpened his senses, observing the room with the eyes of a hawk. No survivors; all was empty but for the beast mauling the corpse its deceased victim.

No one to be endangered.

It paid him no mind, concentrated on its dead prey.

"Trace...on" he whispered.

He pictured in his mind's eye the image he associated with his opened circuits. A simple one, that made his skull tremble and shudder nonetheless. A pair of eyes opening, gazing past the veils of innocence and into the horrible truths.

Mana was thick and viscous instead of the old clear water running down his pathways. It had the consistency of blood, boiling in the ethereal veins that were his circuits. Worrying, considering they came from his soul.

'Later,' he told himself. He had to think about the consequences of his transfusion when he had the time and space to do so.

Firstly, he filled the gaps of imperfection in his body, pushing it to its limit. Then, his garb, turning the fabric into a formidable defense as sturdy as armor. Last but not least, his Saw Cleaver. It gleamed with green patterns as the energy powered it, sharper, better.

And he was nowhere near done with his reserves. The old blood had done more than strengthening his body.

The flow coming from his weapon set off some instinct deep down into the beast. Its head lurched to his direction.

There was a tense moment where both held their breaths.

It charged. So did Shirou.

With a screech, the beast moved. Its lips peeled back, and white, gleaming fangs stained with blood and marrow were visible in the dark.

Shirou responded with a swing of his cleaver. It spun, bumping into a gurney and avoiding the blow, but he pressed forward. He had dealt with enough of these to know what to expect.

His cleaver's teeth bit into its flesh. It howled and jumped back, as if struck by a train.

It had gotten its back closer to the wall.

'Big mistake.'

He hacked at the beast, trusting his hurricane of attacks to keep it from striking back. Rivers of blood poured on his clothes and the walls. The beast staggered. It reeled from a vicious slash to its skull and floundered when he amputated its left leg. It howled and screeched, but he showed no mercy.

Its screams died soon, and it went as still as its old victim, dead beside a baroque wall painted with its lifeblood.

Shirou's hands shivered, but not from the effort. It had been easy; too easy in fact.

He ran his shaky fingers on his cheek, where crimson fluid had been dripped on. It was like organic electricity was infused in his skin and beyond. Shirou was more alert, more disposed, stronger. He felt _amazing._

Shirou regained his senses in slow, deliberate breaths. The mere memory enticed his thoughts. He knew it. There was more to the transfusion and the effects of Yharnam's ministration than he had been told.

Bloody weapon in hand, he marched out of the clinic, going through another waiting room. The door was opened wide.

He exited through it and into the courtyard.

Shirou froze. Static consumed his vision, and his body went ice cold, as if the entire ground had been pulled from under him. Lost in a sensory void, all but the glacial prison taken from him, he forced eyes that didn't see to look at things that weren't meant to be seen.

The moon, hanging impossibly low and bright, emitted wave after wave of a terrible presence. It shone through the static, morphing into different states as he gazed past the veil. The orange hue of the afternoon, pale-blue like crystalline water, then blood red.

_Don't look closer. Don't look closer. Don't look closer._

Shirou scrunched his eyes tight, or he thought he did, as he couldn't feel the pressure of curled muscles and stretching of the skin. He forced himself to think about something – anything else.

And, as always, swords entered his thoughts. One after the other, in different sizes, shapes and quality.

It had been a long time he had been allowed to dream of swords. Of late, Yharnam had rented the time reserved for dreams.

He didn't know how long he stood there, enraptured, as unlimited blades poured in. They pacified his mind, having been hurt by the sharp thorns of knowledge not meant for him.

Chaos unfolded as his consciousness returned to him. A bell tolled from afar, loud and clear. Hollers all over the town were clear to his enhanced hearing, and so were the unique scents and noises of the Hunt. All of it amplified a dozen times over.

The hairs on the nape of his neck went up. Sight returned to him, Yharnam pulsing in all its glory, and his hands trembled in anticipation.

"This is it..."

Henryk had told him what a real Hunt was like.

_"You don't see the sunrise until it's done, and it isn't done until nearly everything that moves is dead."_

The ominous atmosphere; the soul-shattering dangers that already nearly consumed him; the overwhelming scent of spilled blood in the air.

It was only natural that his heart was soaring and the mana that originated from his soul acknowledged the undeniable truth. It responded by thrumming with arcane strength like it never had before.

This was the fight Emiya Shirou had spent his life preparing for.

With a grip of steel, he readied his weapon, a challenging roar to the looming Moon and Yharnam.

The courtyard right outside the clinic he was in was a common sight in Yharnam. Filled with the dead – trees in this case; towering iron gates that quarantined the inside from the outside and statues cluttering any empty space, discarded with no care in the world.

They depicted men and women with their heads dipped down, hands clasped as if asking for mercy. Candles were draped over them, flickering pitifully in the light of day. They were sorrowful and lifelike, and Shirou knew that these statues represented the innermost spirit of the Yharnamites.

No more.

He stalked out through one of the iron gates, opening it with a shove. The sounds of someone being hunted greeted him.

Right next to him as he came to the streets, a bunch of Yharnamites hacked at the corpse of a horse. Its ribcage lay exposed to the world. They didn't seem to care.

"I'll mash up your brain!"

"You plague-ridden rat!"

"Death upon ya!"

They screamed and laughed. They all were dressed in blood-stained, ragged clothes. Not far from where he was, Shirou thought he saw the corpse of the one that had been in the carriage. He steeled himself.

One of the Yharnamites turned to him, and as one, they stopped their attacks and looked at his direction.

"Over here!" the man-beast screamed, leaping at him. cleaver in hand making a deadly arc toward his face.

Shirou swung his weapon.

A corpse fell next to him, and its head rolled as if impulsed by the blood gushing out from the stump. Gravity took care of the rest, taking it many feet away from its body.

The bell tolled again as the Yharnamites stared at their friend's fate.

He rose his weapon shoulder-high, making it clear. They would follow if they insisted on this mistake.

"Vile beast!"

"You fiend!

They attacked. Shirou responded in kind, knowing this scene would repeat itself over and over tonight.

This is what being a Hero of Justice meant in Yharnam.

For now.

* * *

**Aaand done. I really hope no one took me on my challenge.**

**And also cheers. The chapter didn't go much past the limit I set to myself. I had to cut some things out, but I think it worked fine.**


	8. Chapter 6

**As promised, here it is.**

**Pretty exhausting to write. I'm never really satisfied with my action scenes, but I gave it my best shot.**

**Here goes nothing.**

* * *

**Chapter 6**

A bullet grazed his shoulder. The mere scratch was enough to make his skin sizzle like boiling water and his sight waver sickly. A Yharnamite celebrated with an "I got 'im!"

It was a fine encouragement for him to run faster. His garb was no protection right now. That was the power of Quicksilver bullets; the only kind of bullet effective against beasts and Hunters.

A flying hammer drew a deadly path towards his head, intent on turning it into a paste. Only instinct saved him. Shirou ducked and it smashed a hole into the stone walls toward which he had been running. The deformed giant that had been clobbering the main gate howled its displeasure.

But pain was going to be the least of his concerns if he didn't get out of the shooting range and didn't outrun the bloodlusted mob hot on his tail. A pack of dogs nibbled on his heel, and he leaped over the set of stairs. They powered through the entire thing nearly as fast as him. A huntsman launched a torch over his head.

Flanked only by rows of coffins and crates that were now on fire, Shirou realized he would have to make his escape route.

Scrunching his eyes tight, he barrelled through them. Shards of wood fell with him onto the cobblestone floor and his garb felt like being inside of an oven. Dumb luck saved him twice. The coffins weren't the nigh-indestructible ones from the richer districts, and the sharp fences hidden behind them only made shallow cuts on his skin.

He rolled with his fall, and felt like his soul had ghosted out of his body after getting face-to-face with a wolf.

It howled and trashed against the metal bars of the kennel it was imprisoned within. It rattled harder than it should've. A cacophony of barking alerted the entire city of his position. More of the demented wolves joined suit from inside their own prisons.

His feet hammered onto the floor and he stopped himself from looking behind, even after the unmistakable sound of shattering metal. More and more bodies crashing against the floor, equally as uncaring of the fire as he had been.

A racket of sounds, cackles and howls filled the streets. The clattering of weapons too big for the passageway tailed him like his own shadow.

He turned a left and ran up the longest flight of stairs of his life. An empty, poorly-illuminated road laid ahead, and two routes forked to each side. To his left, an even longer flight of stairs up. To his right, a flight of stairs down, and a long tunnel ahead of it, large and spacious enough for him to be surrounded.

Having to make a quick call, he only allowed himself a moment to ponder: how did it everything go downhill like this?

* * *

Blood dripped from his cleaver on the cobblestone floor as Shirou pushed himself up with it. Behind him, the fruits of his labor, hacked and cold, lay still over puddles of spinal fluid, blood and lost organs. Left in their corpses, all that remained was an echo of their rage at the unfairness of it all. It clung to Yharnam and him.

The smudges on his garb were dark and wet, and cursed odors stuck to him. The many shards of Bloodstone in his pockets told of a long journey of battles and slaughter. Leagues of enemies had thrown themselves at him with abandon, and he had responded in kind.

Shirou massaged his temples, taking deep breaths. Stopping made his head hurt. Not having a beast, with its fangs bared and eyes promising death lunging at him siphoned his energy. An emptiness within him reminded him of a time before his promise to Kiritsugu. A time without purpose.

If he had to guess, it had been a mere hour of fighting. Even so, it had seemed to stretch and stretch until he could barely recall his name. By now, the darkness of night should have swallowed any signs of the afternoon.

Yet, nothing changed in the sky. The Moon hung impossibly low still, brimming with an alien presence. As if it had descended near the world so it could watch from a front seat the spilling of blood and the frontiers between man and beast falling into pieces. The transition to night was held back by means unknown, and there was no rest for the wicked, including him.

The eery sensation of the Moon watching him made a shiver wrack his spine. A lingering, odd pressure on his back remained; the same he felt every time he was being tailed by a hungry beast. No matter how much he tried, he couldn't shake it off.

It only slipped out of his mind when he was neck-deep into conflict. The blood of his opponents gushing out and pouring on his garb, working its way into the small gaps of the needlework. Then, onto his skin, bringing a euphoric release that returned strength to his blows and life to his body.

The blood always found a way, as if it had a stubborn will of its own.

He scrunched the region between his eyebrows, and forced his fleeting thoughts into a cohesive whole. There was something important to do...

'I have to find Gascoigne and Viola.'

The memory returned, bringing the urgency that comes when one remembers an important duty. Shirou picked up his pace, walking with newfound purpose. He had made a promise which he intended to keep.

It was easy to forget himself in the middle of it all sometimes...

No beast crossed his path as he trudged through Yharnam's twisting streets. He paid half a mind to the debris, dark smears of blood and flies feasting on corpses. They were the shreds of evidence of the mad internal war going on within this city.

It wouldn't do getting caught off guard, no matter how resilient he had become.

Soon, the steely gate that guarded Gascoigne's neighborhood was before him. He plucked the key from his pocket, gifted to him by Viola yesterday with a promise to use it sparingly. The neighbors wouldn't like the idea of an outsider being able to burst open their defences so easily.

It whined and creaked as he pushed it open, and he winced. Would it kill them to rub some oil on the hinges?

'Might as well ring a giant bell and say it's feasting time for the beasts.'

The house was a few feet away from him, guarded by sharp, waist-high fences. Numerous padlocks looped around the windows' steely bars. They were, as always, lit up from the inside. The faint burning of incense in a nearby lamp hanging on the wall rendered the house extra protection.

"Viola?" he called out. "Are you in there?"

"Shirou?" a tiny voice whispered from behind the window.

He sighed in relief. "Arabella? Yeah, it's me. Where are your parents?"

"Gone," she said, and his innards went cold. "Daddy never came back from the hunt, and mum went to find him, but now she's gone, too..." A sob rippled through the air. "I'm all alone...and scared..."

Shirou's mind nearly went into disarray – Gascoigne was out tonight, and Viola too – but the little girls' broken tone prevented him from storming after them with no information.

Arabella needed his help first.

"What did your dad look like? Did he look...off?" he asked, and immediately wanted to hit himself with his weapon.

"Daddy remembered us," she said, and a wave of relief washed over him. "But he argued with mum. He wanted to go hunting but mum said he had to stay home. Daddy said he had to kill crows and went out anyway..."

_the black crow crowed as it extended its talons, and cold, unforgiving steel from his friend's weapon severed skin, muscles and blood vessels in a single go_

Shirou shook his head until it was clear of images of his death.

There would be time for more of those later in the night, he thought to himself morbidly.

Taking a few seconds to gather his wits, he responded to her. "Okay. I think I know where he went."

With any luck, his mind was still on that night, when he had singled out the murder of crows near Oedon Fountain as his prey.

"Really?" she cheered. "Can you bring him home, Shirou? And mum?"

He leaned on the wall, closer to the window, and said with his most reassuring tone. "Yeah, I'll bring both of them back. It's a promise."

"Thank you, thank you, thank you!" she said. "Oh, I mustn't forget!"

Sounds of light feet pattering on the floor followed, and when she came back, tiny hands held Gascoigne's Music Box. She pushed it through the window's bars. Shirou froze at the sight of it.

"Mum's so silly, running off without it!" she said, giggling.

The Music Box. It played a haunting melody that never failed to unsettle him. It was also a lifeline that brought Gascoigne back when his eyes glazed and he started forgetting things.

Important things.

"Yeah...I'll make sure to scold her after giving it back. You hang in there until I come back, okay?"

It felt horribly heavy in his hands as he took the box and stuffed it in an inside pocket of his garb.

"Okay! Thank you, Shirou!" said Arabella with palpable relief.

His steps were rigid as lead as he left. What had Viola been thinking?

Shirou gritted his teeth so hard his jaw trembled. The desire to lash out, to punch the stone walls nearby, throw his weapon on the ground, cut beasts to bloody pieces with his cleaver.

_Embrace it._

Deep breaths. Focus. Inhale with the nose, follow the air as it travels down the body; belly expanding first and then the chest. Exhale with the mouth, feeling the belly contract and lungs being emptied.

It shouldn't feel good. No matter what they were now, beasts used to be people. It was murder, no matter what justification or sophistry he used to dress it up.

But the sensations, visceral and so empowering remained, as if rewards to his every kill. Was it how it was for all Hunters? The constant urge, throbbing at the edge of their consciousness, spurring them into hunting and hunting until the only thing that gave them purpose was seeking the old blood?

"I can't let this happen..." He pushed the urges back into the depths of his mind.

But how could he reconcile saving people with hunting? Even now, answers escaped him. It was another layer of difficulty in a dream he knew very well clashed with reality.

"Don't let yourself get caught up in the Hunt, lad. Those who do don't come back."

"He warned me, didn't he?" he thought out loud. He just hadn't thought it would be so hard.

There was something comforting on voicing his thoughts like that. Rational, human. Kept his feet close to the ground and away from the allure of the Hunt. So did the desire to save Gascoigne and Viola.

Henryk had been worried for him, and so had Gascoigne. But if they had resisted so far, so could he. He would become a different kind of Hunter, one that could save people and save Yharnam.

Strapping his cleaver on his back, he sauntered away. He tugged up the fabric of his garb and stretched it over his mouth and nose like Henryk. Shirou spurred his legs into action, clothes flapping against the cold wind as he pushed himself to his limits.

There was no time to lose.

He had to appear non-threatening and inconspicuous. Hence, disarming himself and covering his obvious foreign features. His garb worked against him, but if he could avoid getting too close to anyone or talking at all, he could make it in time.

The streets passed in a blur around him as he scanned every nook and cranny for Gascoigne. He navigated Central Yharnam's chaos with the reflexes of a seasoned Hunter. A stark difference to last time, when he followed – or more like bumbled – after Henryk.

He avoided all the obstacles, from coffins to piles of boxes and fallen weapons, darting around and deftly jumping over them. The sinuous and uneven roads were obstacles he had now conquered.

'Praise the old blood.' He thought ironically. Only an unnatural boost could make this much difference in a matter of days.

Kiritsugu had taught him: magecraft always had a price, one which the results you got would parallel how much you had to offer. It was the law of Equivalent Exchange.

He had a feeling the old blood would want its price back with interest.

Shirou outran a pack of wolves hot on his tail; disarmed a man swinging an ax at him, slashing him with his own weapon before taking off and clotheslined a Yharnamite that got too close with a pitchfork. Nothing slowed his pace even once.

It was with an even breath and surprisingly few scuffles on the way that he got to the familiar place. He had a close call behind, having sneaked around the large group of huntsmen burning crucified beasts. He crossed the right gate, conveniently open and unattended, and an image flashed in his mind. A glint of steel and the whooshing sound of Gascoigne's ax cutting through the air and into his flesh.

"It was right there, wasn't it?" he asked to himself. He stared down at the fountain and the small droplets of crimson fluid, hardened into stains that smudged the construction. Nobody had bothered to clean it up, as if they were offerings to the god after which the Oedon Fountain was named.

And there were no signs of Gascoigne; only of stray, gigantic crows and deformed dogs. The creatures crowed and howled to the air. The hunt was slow here, and Gascoigne would've left traces of his presence through corpses and more spilled blood.

Shirou didn't allow himself to consider the chance that Gascoigne had lost. He had to be alive.

So captured by his search, his ears almost didn't pick a growing commotion surging behind him. Shirou looked back and his eyes barely refrained from bulging out of his skull.

"Ah..." wheezed out Shirou. "I made a big mistake, didn't I?" he wondered out loud, sweat dripping from his forehead.

And the growing crowd of Yharnamites rushed in, dozens of murderous gazes fixed on him. He recognized a few that had gotten in his way. They all had brought hunting-buddies to enact their righteous revenge upon him, their guns trained on his direction. Others were probably attracted to a Hunter bolting across the streets, and it set off some bestial instinct inside them, like dogs chasing after speeding cars.

Where a mob hunted, more tended to join, a pack mentality he had identified in his first days in Yharnam.

"Always check if they are alive, right, Gascoigne?" muttered Shirou. A rolling dread invaded him with nauseating intensity and his body refused to act.

There were beasts that could pretend they were dead, only to snap their eyes open and lunge for his throat. And no matter how good you were, getting ganged up by beasts was a sure-way for an early grave. You could never let them get their numbers up.

And Shirou had let a legion of not-quite-dead enemies on his trail and more ahead of him.

'Any chance of them letting me go?' he wondered sardonically. Maybe if he just laid down and waited for his death, they would grant him the mercy of not burning him alive like the beasts he saw on his way here.

Henryk would have his head if he knew of his carelessness.

If the Executioner didn't take it for himself first. It was a towering beast of a man, clad in an armor of pure steel that clanged with its every step. A hood obscured its features, while it wielded a great-ax of twice Shirou's size. It stomped its way through the crowd with purpose and none of the Yharnamites dared to challenge its claim.

With a colossal push of will, Shirou forced himself to turn and run like there was no tomorrow. The piercing explosion of bullets rung behind him, bouncing against the walls he hid behind of. The drumming of dozens of feet and hollers of pleasure from every corner of the street followed suit.

"Death to the outsider!"

"Run, you cursed beast!"

More huntsmen and beasts emerged, an agreement being reached by them with no words spoken.

The Yharnamites had found their prey.

* * *

Shirou bounded down the stairs, snatching the Repeating Pistol from its holster and rolling with his fall. A grunt escaped his lips at the crash.

But he had more. An image of Henryk's knives took form in his mind.

"Trace...on!"

The demented dogs loped behind him, and then sailed through the air like bullets. He responded with reinforced bullets of his own.

Quicksilver shots pierced the palates of their mouths, wide and hungry, spraying blood outwards. Three corpses fell with dull thuds on the floor when he was finished. Only one remained.

Being the last beast standing of its kind didn't discourage it. It lunged for his extended arm.

He dropped his gun on the floor and pivoted. With his other hand, he impaled it with his reinforced knife. It shrieked, and he slammed it on the ground.

The beast flailed in its last seconds of life as he held it down and rendered its flesh apart with violent stabs. His knife, pristine before, now was soaked with blood.

Panting, Shirou looked upstairs. Behind him, the Executioner had finally arrived, somehow pushing through narrow pathways with its size. The mob bid its time behind him.

Shirou shot it.

An unmistakable ringing of steel against steel ensued as the bullet poked a hole in its armor. It let out a slight grunt, and with renewed motivation, caused mini-earthquakes as it stomped down the stairs.

Wanting nothing more to bellow his outrage to the heavens, Shirou turned. He ran the opposite way and, after another set of stairs, a closed-door waited for him.

Not taking risks, he kicked it off its hinges and a house enshrouded in darkness greeted him.

'Great, just great.' Thanks to his reinforced vision he could somewhat see in it, but that mattered little. Beasts had an uncanny sense of smell and wouldn't fall for simple ambushes.

Outrunning them it was, then.

He heard a rattling of wheels to his right and only fast-thinking made him dodge a cannonball to his chest. It burst a hole in the wooden walls of the house with a thunderous boom.

Shirou took aim and launched his knife. It punctured handle-deep into the skull of his assailant.

The planks of wood underneath him creaked with his steps as he rotated and took off. He powered through yet another flight of stairs. At the end of it, two more beasts, men with furry, werewolf-like faces waited for him, cleavers in hand.

Projecting a wooden shield and holding it with both arms, Shirou charged at them with a roar. The impact propelled them to a granite wall and splinters of wood flew from the broken shield. Bookshelves nearby rattled and books fell with dull thuds.

To its left, there was an exit. Afternoon light bathed him as he passed through it, and Shirou saw he was on a bridge – a familiar one.

It led to one of the shortcuts to Cathedral Ward. He turned left, aiming for the wide arc of the gate that would lead to an escape from the mob.

Beasts populated the bridge. Giants, crows, black wolves; they prowled and took over it.

Yet, a single Hunter, clad in the Church's garb, slew his foes with his ax, deftly waving the large weapon in deadly arcs.

Shirou breathed. "Gascoigne?"

There was no mistake. The wide-brimmed hat ragged with age, the scarf stirring with his motions, the dark Church Garb and the blindfold around his eyes.

A deformed giant was his first victim as Shirou crossed a path nearly closed off by fallen carriages. The weeping statues closeby, untouched by the hunt, would be stained with its blood. He unshackled his Saw Cleaver and, with it unfurled, attacked it from behind.

He buried it deep in its back. It fell on its knees. He attacked again, the bloody cleaver cutting a hole through it in a crunch of bones and squelching of blood.

Gascoigne froze in his tracks. He opened his mouth, staring at Shirou.

"Aaah," he moaned indistinctly.

Shirou wrapped his hand around Gascoigne's wrist, taking advantage of his sudden halting. He pulled the much larger man away from the murder of crows aiming for their eyes.

"Come on Gascoigne, we have to go!" he yelled.

Gascoigne offered little resistance, as if dazed, and they crossed further down the bridge.

Shirou looked behind – _he shouldn't have done that_ – and the mob chasing him had stopped. They looked at him and Gascoigne leerily.

Something – at the edge of his vision and Shirou looked down on the cobblestone floor. A shadow had manifested itself, stretching on and on through the bridge.

...they hadn't been looking at him and Gascoigne.

Shirou craned his neck to look back. A calamitous noise, louder than any screech of any beast threatened to burst his eardrums. It was a high-pitched howl that made his head throb and his thoughts _shudder_; a lamentation spoken in a language that wasn't meant for human ears.

The mob scattered, bumping into each other and stomping to death those who were unfortunate to fall. Crows squawked and used their limited flight to flap off the bridge. The fearless wolves ran with their tails between their legs.

A creature jumped from above the gate and the world trembled. A calamity of flesh and bone, taller than a two-story house, with a skeletal frame that had its ribs bursting through taut skin and claws, smeared with blood and thin as blades. Its caprine head was crowned by jagged antlers, and mouth filled to the brim with fangs.

It loomed, and the wild mane running down its back and on its left arm hackled. The arm was thrice as bulky as its right one, and it supported the weight of the beast along its hind legs.

Cobblestone crumbled and shivered under its weight. It let out another piercing howl that made Shirou want to lop his ears off.

'How...how do we beat this thing?' he thought, dread rolling through him in waves.

It was bigger and stronger than any beast he had ever slain. The sheer murderous aura it exuded had scared away the bloodlusted mob.

'How...'

Gascoigne responded.

Charging with a howl of his own, Gascoigne's slashed its bulky arm and drew blood. It roared and slammed him away.

"Ah...of course," said Shirou to himself. A grin – an unpleasant one, full of teeth – formed on his face.

No matter how tall or powerful this beast was, it bled.

If it bled, then it was just like any other beast.

His prey.

Saw Cleaver in hand, Shirou joined tonight's Hunt with Gascoigne.

* * *

**Chapter over. Phew, it was a tough one.**

**Hah! And Shirou needs help to fight the Cleric Beast. What a scrub!**


	9. Chapter 7

**Well, I have to say I surprised myself this time. Call it inspiration or anything else, the words just came easily this time.**

**Hopefully, you guys will like it.**

* * *

**Chapter 7**

The beast bellowed, and knives seemed to stab his eardrums.

Gascoigne leaped on its back and lodged his ax deeply into it, enough to support his weight. With the other, he snatched his pistol and emptied its magazine on the back of its head. He let out a guttural roar in satisfaction.

Shirou slashed and slashed, but it endured the punishment, despite the many rends torn in its flesh. Blood sprayed on him in large amounts, and veins beneath wiry muscles were ripped open.

In a show of cunning, the beast threw its weight onto the gate behind it, and Gascoigne was slammed against it. He fell limp on the floor. It twisted on its heels and rose its strong arm to crush him.

Shirou reinforced his gun and bullets to their limits. He shot thrice; they were powerful enough to burrow into the arm's wall of muscle. The beast flailed, as if to swat him, and its eyes fell on Shirou.

It zeroed on him. With its right arm, it flipped the discarded carriage at the edge of the bridge forward. Eyes wide, Shirou rolled to his right as the vehicle loomed over him. It crashed on the ground in a thunderous symphony of broken wood.

In the short window, the beast had turned the distance between them to nothing. Its bulky arm loomed over him. Shirou rose his arms in defense.

He flew with a cry as tons of impact dismantled his guard like wet paper. His head rung and vision darkened for a moment. The beast's chest bulged as it threw its arms back and howled its dominance.

At the edge of his sight, Shirou saw Gascoigne stabbing his left leg with a needle, and the vial was emptied in a single go. Rejuvenated, Gascoigne roared his challenge, his ax rising above him, hungry for blood.

Shirou would have slapped his forehead if it weren't for his current situation. The vials' Viola had given him!

He reached inside his pockets and pulled out one. With a shaky hand, he stabbed it on his thigh like he had seen done a hundred times before.

Distilled life rushed in. Wounds mended with a wet sound, and a wave of indescribable pleasure made his thoughts shudder. Shirou's body thrummed with vile strength and he grabbed his weapon.

Gascoigne got inside its guard, and solid steel met the beast's knee, neither of them prevailing. The beast remained tall and strong, and Gascoigne deflected a punch with the strength of a man possessed. Even so, he was launched back.

Shirou threw around a quick gaze. It could cover the entire width of the bridge with its huge arms, so fighting a ranged battle was a sure way for their defeat.

And if one of them was thrown off the bridge, Shirou didn't like their odds of surviving.

He snapped his Saw Cleaver to its original form.

Then, the safest place for them right now...

Shirou charged.

Was staying close to the beast!

He pushed his legs to the limit and joined Gascoigne. The beast shifted its weight, and with the eyes of a predator, Shirou saw its knee buckling. It wasn't as unharmed by Gascoigne's attack as he had thought.

It drew its bulky arm and swept, a mountain of air displaced by the blow. The two of them jumped, narrowly avoiding it, but the beast wasn't done. Its fists intertwined and the bridge trembled as it swung down, a beastly hammer that sent carved cobbles soaring around them.

Gascoigne lost his footing and slipped. Shirou didn't.

He hacked its left knee, uncaring of its pained bellow. It stumbled as the knee buckled under its enormous weight. The bandages wrapped around the hilt of his weapon and his garb were soaked with its blood.

Shirou went for the other one, but the beast bounded back, its claws grazing the bridge. The jump lacked its former strength. It bellowed.

Something flew in the air and Shirou saw Gascoigne's arm outstretched. The sound of shattering glass assaulted his almost deaf ears and fire burst in a brilliant explosion. Its mane was devoured by the wrathful flames and it shrieked.

It rolled about on the cobble, an instinctive reaction to the purifying fire eating its life away. Shirou didn't approach the chaos of flames and thrashing limbs. The injuries he had accumulated over the night made it a bad idea.

Gascoigne had no such concerns. He got into its range and met a furious fist head-on. The hunter was thrown back, but not discouraged. He dodged a swipe of its claws and descended his ax on its flesh like a butcher. Fire licked his garb but Gascoigne carried on, consumed by the desire to finishing it off.

Still smoldering, it rose and, deceptively quick, snatched Gascoigne with its bulky arm. Gascoigne howled and thrashed, but its grip was like an iron band. The cracking broken bones echoed in the bridge and Gascoigne let out a pained cry.

Shirou's mind thought of the worse. He couldn't let it throw Gascoigne off!

In the most powerful, most desperate jump of his life, Shirou reached his target. His Cleaver drew a river of blood as it opened a deep gash into the beast's arm. It freed Gascoigne from its unforgiving grip, and it howled.

When Shirou's feet hit the ground, it met him with a calamitous headbutt, his guard open. It slipped due to its bad leg, and that saved his life.

Its antlers skewered his belly and a thick gob of blood burst from his mouth. The back of his head cracked against broken cobble, and any thought escaped his mind as pain filled it all. Shirou gurgled, and the beast's beady eyes were set on him, locked in a feral gaze that sent waves of dread on him. Its breath washed over his lower body along with lingering flames.

It howled, making his body shiver with the sound as the antlers rooted inside of him. Blearily, he saw Gascoigne's ax embedded in its nape.

Through the haze of pain, Shirou knew one thing. His weapon was still in his hand.

He pushed through it, pushed his unresponding body to act, and broke his limits.

Shirou hacked its face, blood showering him in a stream and renewing his strength. Above him, Gascoigne did the same, and the two of them cut and cut, rendering flesh open as the two madmen they now were drew the life from its body.

In what felt like hours later, the beast went limp with a parting howl, low and rumbling instead of the ear-shattering screams of earlier. As if on cue, the frenzied energy was sapped from his body, and madness leaked away.

Shirou's vision darkened. Gascoigne was beside him, panting, having delivered the final blow. He writhed as if something was eating at his innards, and a pang of fear hit Shirou as Gascoigne's deranged eyes turn to him.

His failing hearing picked something, and in a last effort, Shirou craned his head back. An army of beasts approached; predators that would pick on the leftovers of stronger beasts.

'The vials...'

He forced muscles that resisted his commands to search inside his garb. His trembling hand returned bloodied and palm filled with shattered glass.

'Ah...broken...'

Consciousness failed him, and he knew no more.

* * *

Shirou opened his eyes, clawing his way back to his senses. He groaned as his head throbbed and ringed, as if it had grown too small for the blood running inside of it.

He pushed himself off the floor, the cobble rough and cold to his skin. His vision remained blurry and he tried blinking it off. Distantly, he thought he could smell the pungent scent of incense burning close to him.

Now sure of it, he heard the faint sizzling of it and fog rising languidly behind him. He turned his head.

He saw a humanoid crow, unnatural eyes set on him and swords in both hands.

Shirou lurched to his feet with a gasp, and dizziness consumed his sight. When it returned, his back laid on the floor and his head vibrated with agony.

"I see Henryk has been teaching you well," said the Crow. "At ease, young man. I come in peace."

The worlds were slurred and faint in his ears, but he had a good hunch on what she said, and was hopeful enough to ask. "You aren't here to hunt me, then?"

The swords in her hands weren't giving a good impression, nor watching him sleep.

"If I were, would you have woken up?"

Shirou groaned again and got himself into a sitting position. His entire body protestested at the motion. Even if he wanted to resist, there was very little he could do to defend himself. "Sorry, it's a bit painful to think right now."

His weapons sat beside him, though the edge of his Cleaver seemed to have lost a bit of its sharpness. Everything – including his garb, he realized as he looked down – was soaked in blood.

"That must be a novel experience for you."

"I can still understand sarcasm."

The Crow laughed. It was a slow, ominous sound that made his skin crawl. "Then I suppose you are no beast, nor a flesh-hungry hunter. That rules you out as my prey."

Shirou startled. "Where is Gascoigne? He was with me back when-"

His eyes went wide as it dawned on him. His hand was wrapped around the hilt of his weapon before he knew it. "Did you kill him?" he demanded.

She shook her head. "No, I haven't hunted Gascoigne yet. I saw him leaving a little after the Cleric Beast died. I came to hunt the beast myself but it seems the two of you handled it quite well."

The beast's howls must have alerted the entire town. Being at the ground zero of them, Shirou knew it was the kind of sound that could raise the dead from their slumber.

"Cleric Beast? That thing had a name, then?"

"Less a name and more of a title. The Healing Church's Clerics may become terrifying beasts, and more often than not what you saw is the end result of their metamorphosis. Some even say the founder himself became one by the end of his life..."

"So it's dead..."

That was what his memories told him as well. Normally, the Hunt blurred together in his mind. The fights were rushes of adrenaline and split-second decisions, but there was a stark-clarity to them this time. He remembered every time its talons opened holes in his body; every time he rolled beneath it and impaled its legs, while Gascoigne swung his ax with mad ferocity.

He ran a hand over his belly and chest. He remembered it impaling him with its antlers...

It had been the most terrifying fight of his life. Worse than when he arrived in Yharnam, thrown in a strange world and running for his life as beasts chased him.

"I remember... after we killed it, there were beasts getting near us." He grimaced. "I fainted. How am I alive?"

She hummed. "Isn't it obvious? Gascoigne cleaned the entire bridge from beasts and lit this incense. You weren't the one to deliver the final blow, were you?"

"No, he did." He smiled, despite the soaring pain lingering in his body and the stench of blood that would follow his every step tonight. "He's alive then. I have to go find him."

"You will do no such thing."

Shirou's shoulders tensed. The visage of the woman, cape like a crow's wings and a mask obscuring her every expression, grew even more threatening. She had said 'yet', hadn't she?

"Why not? Why can't I go find him?"

The beak of her mask tilted down, and she must have been looking dead in his eyes. "I'm sure you know very well why not."

The reply was on his lips before she was done talking. "He saved me."

A simple statement, even more simplistic in how he phrased it.

But for him, it meant everything.

"He did," she agreed, "and it does him credit that he resisted for so long, but I've had my eyes on Gascoigne for a while now. He has bathed in the blood of a Cleric Beast and gods know how many more after that. No one could endure it any further; not when his mind was frayed as it was."

"You can't know that. And I have this." He rummaged inside the pockets of his garb and held back a sigh of relief when he found the Music Box untouched. It wouldn't do to show his uncertainty near her. "It always brought him back. Gascoigne isn't a beast. I will save him."

There was no other option, no other acceptable outcome.

The man who had saved his life twice already, who had taught him the skills he needed to save others and welcomed him in his home.

Purpose filled his body and streamlined his thoughts.

Even if right now his body was weakened, so long as his arms and legs worked, he could fight.

He would be at his strongest when he had someone to save.

"Such blustering...your inexperience is showing, Good Hunter. Has the little Doll even strengthened your body yet?"

"What are you talking about?" he asked, bewildered. "I don't know about any dolls."

The beak jutted up. "Oh my...and here I thought that you would have experienced it by now. My mistake, then." She paused, hand clasping her jaw. "I cannot fault you for your wish, but Gascoigne is beyond saving. You shouldn't get involved any further. A hunter must hunt beasts, and beasts only."

His temper reared its head. "I won't let you kill Gascoigne!" he shouted. "Henryk told me about you. Who are you to make that call? How can you say he's beyond saving if you don't even know him?"

Gascoigne, who laughed easily and spent hours crafting amateursh new toys for his daughter so she wouldn't get bored. Who would share old, fond stories of his youth, of when Henryk would terrorize him in new, inventive ways. Who left the Church's employment so he could spend time with his family.

He wasn't mad. He wasn't a danger to others.

Shirou pushed down the memory of deranged eyes and of old, ominous silences.

"Experience, of course. I have hunted many flesh-hungry beasts, and will hunt many more. I learned to identify the signs, and it has been a long time I was wrong." She shook her head. "This isn't one of those times."

Shirou didn't budge. "That just means you can be wrong. Gascoigne is stronger than that; I know he is. He has Henryk, a wife that went out tonight to look for him and his daughter waiting for him to come back home. He won't lose himself like that." He exhaled. "I won't let him."

Incense still burned near them, the sizzling growing fainter by the minute. Its pungent scent was weaker and the fog more indistinct. The moon hung low, patiently.

She broke the silence.

"Often, those with the most to lose turn into the worst kind of beasts. Attachments are dangerous; feelings can be turned against them. A single tragedy can ignite countless more in its wake. Such was how Yharnam was born and how it survives."

"He won't lose anything. I will save him."

"There is no saving him, only-"

"You don't know that!"

She exhaled. "I won't pretend I was close to him, but you were. Falling apart as he is, Gascoigne slew the beasts after your blood and made sure you were protected after that. In the short time I presume you knew each other, he cared for you enough to resist the beasthood for the last time. To protect you. Cherish that memory, let it be the one you'll remember in the years to come."

Her words were like a knife had been stabbed in his chest.

"There is no saving him, but he can be granted mercy. Before his bloodlust is turned against innocents, friends and loved ones. Before the memory of him is tarnished forever."

His fist slammed on the floor. "You call killing mercy?"

"Would he rather live as a beast or die as a man?" she countered.

"He isn't a beast. You don't have to go after him."

She sighed. "A Hunter of Hunters' job is to save hunters who fell apart from themselves." She held up her swords. "These blades were forged by the First Hunter himself, with the sole goal of taking that burden off their shoulders. He was the first to see the need of a Hunter who would liberate them from their sickness. This work bears no honor, but it must be done, as it has been for decades."

And, for no apparent reason, his eyes were fixed on the small swords. Information poured in from his eyes into his mind.

Their original form was that of a single trick sword that could be split in two. Forged from a mineral that descended from the cosmos and had tasted the blood of thousands of foes. It was strong; stronger than any he had ever seen. It had been reinforced with different kinds of Bloodstone, until it reached its current form. Sharper than the finest blade and brimming with arcane energy.

"Blades of Mercy..." he whispered, captivated by its craftsmanship.

"Hmm? You can tell its name with a glance? What a strange talent," she said. "Then again, there must be a reason why you were chosen."

Shirou shoved the image of the swords off, having been entirely distracted by it. "It doesn't matter. I can bring him back even if he forgot things."

The Music Box had worked so far. There was no reason it wouldn't now.

The Crow's grip around her weapons grew tighter. "You said his wife went looking for him, and this music box that supposedly brings him back to his senses is in your possession. What do you think will happen if his wife finds him?"

He froze, as if a frigid wind had covered his innards in ice.

"Loved ones are usually the first to die," she continued, "because they take these risks. They always have a technique, some kind of trick to bring them back. It always works...until it does not."

Shirou gritted his teeth. "Then I have to save him before that happens."

"Enough of this," she snapped. "A Hunter must hunt beasts. Leave the hunting of hunters to me."

Rage came, and the cold dread was replaced by white, hot fury. He shot up to his feet, Saw Cleaver in hand. Something feral lurked beneath his voice when he responded. "Get out of my way, Hunter of Hunters."

He would save Gascoigne, no matter who stood in his way.

_Embrace it..._

Her entire frame tensed, and Shirou readied himself from an attack.

It never came.

The Crow deflated, and she huffed. "I see. You would fight me in that sorry state. Willing to risk your life for him, are you?" She laughed mockingly. "Soon, you'll find that doesn't mean much coming from you. Very well then, if it's all the same to you, I'll bid my goodbye. The night will be long, and Gascoigne won't be the only one to lose his mind."

Shirou cautiously broke eye contact – if it could be called that when he couldn't see her eyes – and plucked his things from the ground. He turned to leave.

"But remember this, Emiya Shirou," she said. "There is no respite, no salvation in the path you intend to walk on. Turn back before it's too late. Don't get too involved. Don't look too deeply into things. At the end of the road, you will be offered mercy. Accept it; put this all behind you like a bad dream. Live a carefree life, as much as Yharnam allows it."

Her words rang with the wisdom of experience, of someone who knew intimately a subject; the advice of an elder to their junior. He stopped.

"Hypocrite," he said.

She chuckled. "Ah, I suppose I am. Forgive this old woman for her presumptuousness."

Shirou scoffed. Her steps echoed in the air as she took off along with the distant roars of beasts.

"But be aware," she said out loud. "If you become a beast, you'll become my prey, no matter how many times I have to hunt you."

"Or you will become mine," he said to himself. If it came to that, if he had to protect an innocent from her, then so be it.

"Trace on."

Mana empowered him once more, and his pain subsided. With strength back in his body, he set out for his destination.

Gascoigne needed to recover and fetch new equipment. There was only one place he could've gone if that was the case.

It was the best option he could think of.

Shirou's eyes lingered on the Great Bridge and, at distance, he could see dozens of Yharnamites guarding the Chapel. They formed a futile resistance to keep the disease from spreading any further. Even so, there was strength in their numbers.

If anyone could have passed such a defense, it was Gascoigne.

In his path, he slew more and more beasts. More than he could've remembered the faces of, more than the disaster that had taken everyone's lives but him.

Heads rolled, corpses littered the streets and blood consumed Yharnam. He ended those lives with brutal swings, as cleanly as he could, not giving the beasthood inside him a single inch. Lives that could've been saved if he was more capable, better.

As his cleaver burrowed into yet another body, he wondered.

How could anyone call this mercy?

* * *

**So, I'm a bit worried about the fight scene. Should I have made it longer? Tell me what you guys think. It's an area I desperately want to improve on.**

**And yeah, one or two chapters to go. Depends on how the chapter will grow as I write it.**


	10. Chapter 8

**Professor let us go early today so I rushed over to finish this. I'll admit I'm a little excited for chapter 8 (technically the tenth I guess).**

**In plenty of chapters I start with a 'here goes nothing', especially those involving action scenes. But, this entire fic revolved around this chapter. It was the idea that solidified the entire thing in my mind.**

**That defeatist talk can go to hell. Here goes fucking everything lol.**

* * *

**Chapter 8**

Shirou's eyes were fixed on the Great Bridge.

The colossus of wrought stone, a construction unparalleled in Yharnam for its scale and sheer ambition, was now a monument to the dead and the disease plaguing the city.

Corpses populated it, some flattened by the monstrous rock that had rolled over them. Most died with open gashes and deep wounds that came from a last meeting with a Hunter.

The wounds of his battle against the Cleric Beast and others he found in his way weighted in his body. His legs moved in brittle motions. His stomach clenched with the phantom pain of the Cleric Beast's antlers skewering him. He wouldn't last much longer if this went on. He had to avoid more fighting and focus on finding Gascoigne and Viola.

A sobbing cut through the air. Shirou turned to look at a man lying on his back, sputtering nonsensically as he bled to his demise. The ugly, open wound in his belly would make sure of that.

"Unfair...unfair..." he chanted.

Shirou rushed closer. The man let out hacking coughs. "We're cursed...we're all cursed...this town's finished."

He knelt down beside him, picking the last vial he had managed to find on his way here. "It's all right, I'll help yo-"

The man lunged for his throat. Shirou had been faster, and the Saw Cleaver opened a hole in his chest.

Blood and bile poured out from his mouth in hacking coughs. Shock seized him and he stared at the open wound. Even so, his jaw untensed and the crinkles in his eyes smoothed out, and he released a final, peaceful sigh.

Shirou watched at the scene, struck speechless. He had seen it before, that flash of humanity in the fleeting moments between consciousness and nothingness.

It never failed to unnerve him.

Shivering, Shirou rose and crossed the bridge in a sedate pace. Guiltily, he bent down to rummage for valuables that were now useless to their old owners. The edges of his garb lingered on puddles of blood, its fabric growing darker and wet. Stained, just as he felt doing this.

If not for him, then for Iosefka and her clinic, even though he found no vials. The dead might not need these things anymore, but the living still had to endure the Night...

His fist shook, clenching hard enough that his nails drew blood from his palms.

He wouldn't acknowledge it.

Death couldn't be the only escape of the Hunt. If that was the case, if all were fated to fall to their baser instincts and consume themselves until nothing remained, then the only thing left to do would be...

_"Would he rather live as a beast or die as a man?"_

Shirou's pace picked up, uncaring of ambushes. Blood dripped from his hands onto the cobblestone, joining the blood of many others in a cursed river that ran deep into Yharnam's beating heart, and flowed from its veins to its every corner. Nothing, no one was left untouched.

He wouldn't accept it.

A Hero of Justice had to persevere, had to always win. No place needed one more than Yharnam.

Slaughter should never be a solution.

The entrance laid ahead of him after two flights of stairs.

Shirou froze in his tracks. A sound, an all too familiar sound of flesh being shredded to pieces resounded through the still, chilly air. It was so ingrained he could perfectly visualize it in his mind. The blood spouting out of the corpse, flesh rendered open and organs strewn about.

His feet were stuck to the floor, as if chains were looped around his ankles and locked him in place. He couldn't move; his spirit siphoned of its remaining, weary strength.

_Don't get closer. Turn back._

But he couldn't do it, no matter how much he wanted to.

_"Endure hell, Emiya Shirou."_

Those were the words said to him by the child that wasn't a child, and he had accepted them. From the start, he had expected nothing less from this world.

He crossed the archway into a different world; one devoid of light. The nightmarish song still played across the dust-ridden air. Towering buildings blotted out the evening sun, casting blood-curdling shadows over the barren graveyard. Scattered dead trees and tombstones that were erected in senseless places, curved and dirty, filled it.

A stone monument dedicated to the Chapel's patron god hung in the center of the graveyard. Worn down by the death that clung to the tomb and tipping precariously to the left, the monolith endured. Yet, not even its firm construction resisted Yharnam's decay.

Chills wracked Shirou's spine. A rich scent of blood, cloying and recent, hung in the air. His eyes fell where the scent was strongest. It stemmed from the various corpses. They now would feed the starving barks of the lifeless trees with their remains.

An ax he recognized butchered dead meat, launching vivid red into the air, splashing it on the tombstones. The blood fell on its wielder's garb, a frayed and grimy one, tainted with the blood of countless prey. One he had seen earlier tonight.

The wielder breathed hard, but the bloodied steel cut its victims all the same as he slammed it down. Again, and again. Methodically and mercilessly, the worst of a human and a beast.

A familiar grey hair. A scarf that had been knitted by a woman he knew, and a Church Garb with cuts and mendings Shirou recognized.

'No...'

Shirou's stomach churned.

The man stood straight, done with his slaughter. "Beasts all over the shop..." he said. "You'll be one of them, sooner or later..."

'No...'

Gascoigne turned his head, white bandages over his eyes and coiling deeply into his hat. His haggard breathing expelled steam in the cold air.

"No..." he whispered.

His friend's lips curled into a snarl and he bared his teeth like a rabid animal.

A pistol was raised, its barrel unerringly aimed at his chest, and Shirou's body moved.

Shirou stumbled on the ground as the Quicksilver Bullet split into a wide pattern. It peppered the stone archway behind him, bursting into sparks and steel. Shirou scrambled up.

"Gascoigne," he cried. "It's me! I-"

The bloodied ax came from above, intent on cleaving his head open. Months of training took over, and Shirou rose a defense.

It was torn like cardboard. His arms rang and his joints were ready to pop from the strain. A desperate hop backward saved his life as unforgiving steel missed his throat by millimeters.

Off-balance, Shirou centered himself. Sparks flew as his Saw Cleaver blocked the Hunter's Ax. Jolts of pain wracked his elbows and forearms, and his knees buckled under the strain.

Worse than the pain was Gascoigne's frame looming over him. His friend leveraged his weight and other arm onto his weapon, and Shirou's knees fell flat on the ground.

"Gascoigne, please!" wheezed out Shirou. "Don't do this."

Gascoigne's pushed down, a raspy and eager sound coming from his throat, a hunger for blood matching that of a beast.

Shirou sapped the strength of his left arm and, instantly, rolled to his right. The ax burrowed a hole into the ground, knocking up stone dust. Shirou clambered to his feet.

Gascoigne leaped and attacked with a diagonal slash. Shirou deflected it, mini-earthquakes running down his body. A visible dent appeared on his Cleaver.

Shirou turned, the ax cutting splitting the edges of his hair as he ducked down low, and ran. Tombstones and then a tree covered him as bullets bit into them.

He needed to get out of Gascoigne's range. It was his only chance to-

Gascoigne roared, and took off with the instincts of a predator after him.

Shirou ran up the stairs leading to the Chapel's entrance and readied his Repeating Pistol. Bullets suffused with mana barked out of it and bit into the ground. They raised a fog of grave dirt inches away from Gascoigne's feet. The threat was clear.

Gascoigne froze in his tracks. Eyes that couldn't see stared at the ground for a second.

He snarled and stormed upstairs, uncaring of the danger.

Shirou made to shoot again, but doubt held his finger. What if hurting Gascoigne only made it worse?

Gascoigne seized the opening greedily, drawing a deadly arc with his weapon.

The Saw Cleaver rose to block it, but the difference between their strength was like day and night. Steel clashed with steel, and shards of Shirou's weapon flew overhead. He grunted as his shoulder threatened to dislocate from its socket.

Shirou pulled the trigger of his pistol, reflexes saving his life from the follow-up. The two bullets hit Gascoigne's chest like a train, and his body slid downstairs.

"No!" shouted Shirou.

He made to run to his help, but instincts honed throughout many nights of hunting warned him. 'I have to take this chance.'

It might be his only one. He discarded the useless weapon.

Impossibly, Gascoigne was already rising, fury visible in his body. He was coiled and about to spring into another attack.

With a prayer in his mind, Shirou snatched the Music Box from inside his garb and flipped the lid. The rusted cylinder within spun and scraped, agonizingly slow compared to Gascoigne's murderous gait.

Gascoigne roared, ax glinting in the dark and aimed at Shirou. A soft but ominous lullaby played from the little box, sweet yet unsettling.

The melody had vice-grip over him, hooking his legs to the ground and he stumbled.

"Remember it, Gascoigne. I'm going to bring you home." pleaded Shirou over the melody. He searched his mind for more, for anything. "We can go and play with Arabella. We'll talk about how Henryk used to pester you. It'll be the same as always." He clutched the little box like a lifeline. "Come home, please!"

Gascoigne wheezed out. "The blood..." His head and limbs lurched, set ablaze with the war waged inside of him. "Oh, it sings to me...urges me..."

"I made a promise to Henryk and your wife." He threw his last resort in. "Viola is there, waiting for you!"

Gascoigne sprung up. He roared, smoldering with unmitigated wrath. It possessed him, as if he knew he was being lied to. The next blow came with its weight, and the ax wrecked the stairs with an explosion. Sparks flew and Shirou rose his pistol in desperation.

He aimed a shot at Gascoigne's weapon as it curved up in an underhand swing. He blew it back in a clang of quicksilver and steel, but Gascoigne's free hand slammed into Shirou.

Shirou flew. His back crashed against a steely coffin. His bones creaked, and his chest felt like it had been caved in. The music box clattered to his right, melody sputtering to a halt as it fell many feet away from him.

Gascoigne's boots hammered on the stairs as he went for the final blow.

Shirou unloaded another salvo of bullets, firing thrice this time on Gascoigne's legs. The ugly sounds of flesh sizzling and steel puncturing muscle and bone filled the night. Gascoigne fell with a howl.

He sucked in air. His body rang under the skirmish's strain. He was close to his limit.

Then, he remembered.

_Prowling beasts on his heels as he found himself on a dead end. He raised the feeble shield he had found on his running and batted them away. His ankles threatened to rupture, torn by fangs of unnatural animals, and his arms shook under the continuous strain._

_'I'm going to die,' he had thought desperately, as a beast climbed his shield and howled to his face, a putrid breath leaving its mouth. He reinforced his struggle._

_More and more came, and they worn him down, wooden shield splintered and useless._

_Then, a glinting ax demolished the beasts, cutting through them like a knife through butter. Blood sprayed on the baroque walls, but the attacker didn't seem to mind, as if he was in his element._

_When he was done and all beasts were corpses, he approached Shirou and offered a hand with a smile. A gente smile, despite the stench of blood and entrails surrounding him._

_"A fine mess you found yourself in, kid," he said. "Don't worry. You're safe now."_

Shirou's hands tightened into steely fists.

'I can't lose...' Shirou thought. 'I can't die without repaying you...'

Twice, Shirou had been given the gift of life when others had perished. It was the most precious thing he anyone could give him.

And it was all he had to give back.

_"It's like I said, Henryk. I'll look out for them; it's a promise."_

He had made a promise. He had to defend himself. He couldn't waste the gifts given to him, not when there was still a chance.

A Hero of Justice had to be able to save Gascoigne.

"Sorry Gascoigne..." Shirou breathed. "I will save you, but I can't risk dying like this."

Gascoigne found his strength back, as if the holes torn open in his legs were shallow cuts. He rose to his towering full-height, reaching for the Hunter's Ax.

'I need a weapon.'

Shirou rose.

His hands wrapped around hilts that weren't there yet.

A weapon that wouldn't be destroyed by Gascoigne's ax. Not a flimsy, beginner's weapon like his old cleaver, but one befitting of a true Hunter.

It didn't matter that it should be impossible. It didn't matter that such a weapon wasn't meant for his inexperienced hands.

He needed the best steel there was, but more than anything...

**Fake it.**

Shirou needed the masterful skill he didn't have.

As one, twenty-seven circuits roared to life.

Nerves stopped working, his limbs ceasing to send information to his nervous system. Sensation disappeared, despite him being capable of moving. Static threatened to consume his sight. Molten lava virulently ate away at his innards.

The price for magecraft beyond him.

Cold steel filled his hands, thrumming with arcane power.

Through his hearing and his one functioning eye, he sensed Gascoigne approaching.

Gascoigne, whose ax ripped trees off their roots and dented the sturdiest stones like nothing. A natural disaster leaving untold destruction in his wake. His mighty weapon rose in the air.

Gascoigne swung.

Shirou stomped ahead and parried the blow with transcendent skill.

His ax overturned and balance lost, Gascoigne gurgled in surprise. His back was now exposed to Shirou.

The Blades of Mercy, projected in all their glory, punished his mistake. A hurricane of attacks bombarded his back with the sound of cracking whips, shredding through his garb and into his flesh.

He howled his pain and swung his weapon in a dazed reflex.

Using skill that wasn't his, Shirou ducked under it and skewered Gascoigne's ribs, avoiding a fatal blow. Gascoigne howled, blood sprouting from the wounds.

With a kick to his friend's chest, Shirou disengaged. His hands were wet with blood as Gascoigne fell squirming on the floor, hands not over his wounds but over his ears. Protectively, silencing the world around him.

Shirou lunged for the Music Box and turned the lid again. The melody began anew.

Gascoigne's thrashing intensified. "Vio..." He moaned, clutching his head. "For...give...aaah."

Her name jolted Shirou. "Viola loves you Gascoigne. I know it. She won't blame you for this. She told me to protect you!"

"FoOoOorgiiivE meeee," he sputtered. "AaAaAahhh..."

Desperation gnawed at him. "There's nothing to forgive. You're sick, Gascoigne. Let me help, please!"

Gascoigne shot to his feet with a scream and pounced, an overhead swing that Shirou pivoted around. He elbowed Gascoigne's injured rib and kicked down low at his knee. It gave out.

Enraged, Gascoigne lashed at him, uncaring of the damage. The backhand smashed against his rushed guard and sent Shirou flying with a grunt. He reinforced the Music Box, jagged green lines covering it, and threw it to the graveyard. It fell among tombstones and corpses.

If he used them as cover, he could play it again behind their protection.

The Hunter pelted him with a rain of splitting bullets. Shirou's reinforced garb took the brunt of the damage, but their quicksilver scorched his skin. Noticing it, Gascoigne threw his pistol aside and transformed his ax into its second form with a snap.

Eyes wide, Shirou jumped back as the now twice as wide ax cut a deadly arc across the air, missing Shirou's legs by an inch. It bounced off the steely rails with a clang.

Gascoigne twisted his body and charged with another swing, shoulder-high, untroubled by the narrow space. Shirou waved beneath it and darted into Gascoigne's guard.

The Hunter drew it back in a fluid motion and thrusted it forward. Shirou ducked, but the blade grazed his shoulder, shredding his reinforced garb and the skin underneath. He grunted but stood strong at the assault.

Roaring, Gascoigne went for another thrust. Shirou rolled underneath it and pierced his thigh with the Blades of Mercy twice. The ax rose like an executioner's punishment over his head. Shirou hopped back, delivering two parting slashes with his blades.

'His range is ridiculous!' He glanced at the graveyard as Gascoigne howled. 'I have to get to the tombstones.' But the fall could hurt his already injured legs.

Shirou looked back and saw an open pathway back to the graveyard, a gap in the rails that barricaded the road.

If he wasn't mistaken, it would lead to the roof of a building that was closer to the ground.

His weapons' skill made him dodge as Gascoigne whirlwinded. His weapon hissed in the air, and Shirou's back got precariously close to the wall.

His course set, Shirou rolled aside to dodge another sweeping arc of steel, and launched himself into the gap.

He fell with a dull thud on the wooden roof. A figure caught his fleeting gaze, lying deathly, locks of blonde hair tight in a bun. A beautiful red brooch ornamented her dress.

Shirou's eyes went wide.

"Viola...?" whispered Shirou.

"FORGIVE MEEEEE!" erupted Gascoigne. "VIOLA, FORGIVE MEEE!"

Shirou leaped away, away from the ax aiming for him and away from reality.

It was all a failure like him could do.

"Loved ones are usually the first to die because they take these risks. They always have a technique, some kind of trick to bring them back. It always works...until it does not."

He fell nearby the tombstones, his body moving with a mind that wasn't his own.

His remained on the corpse of the woman whom he made a promise to. Remained on the image of her still limbs and opaque, lifeless gaze. On the memory of her slender finger running over a teary eye as she asked him, hesitantly, to protect her family.

Minutes had separated Gascoigne saving the life of a boy he barely knew from murdering the love of his life.

"Why..." he whispered. "Why is it always like this?"

Because of a whim of fate, tragedy befell everyone but him.

His legs darted for cover, and tombstones flew around or were split in two by Gascoigne's attacks. The skin under the garb seemed to lurch, as if tumors were growing and bursting from under it. His voice gained a mad, feral inflection.

Shirou ran through the storm of stone and dirt, uncertain of why keep fighting.

He had already lost, hadn't he?

Barks of tree rained and flying clods blocked his sight. The ax came, but Shirou was ready.

He ducked under the horizontal slash and smashed down his blades with all his might, mana empowering the arcane weapons to their limits.

Its handle snapped in two, and Shirou kicked the dumbstruck Gascoigne away. Red caught the edge of Shirou's vision and he made a move for the tiny box.

...he couldn't accept it. Losing, failing Henryk, failing Arabella...

From the beginning, he had clung to life even when he had walked into hell.

The melody of the tiny Music Box restarted, louder and clearer. A memory came unbridled to his mind.

_"I want to be a Hero of Justice," said Shirou, after much pestering about his motives to join the hunt. They hung around the fireplace in the living room of Gascoigne's house._

_"A what now?" asked Gascoigne._

_He tried to explain, even though his words always failed to convey his feelings. How much it mattered to him, even if it was a fool's errand._

_Henryk snorted. "Real mature, lad." He shook his head and muttered about the foolishness of youth._

_Gascoigne was pensive, stroking his goatee and looking at Shirou with penetrating eyes. Then, with the same, kind grey eyes he had looked at Shirou with when saving him from prowling beasts, he ruffled his hair._

_"You're a good kid, Shirou."_

Life only had meaning if he could stop that hell from happening again.

The tumors under Gascoigne's skin shuddered and finally exploded as he screamed bloody murder. Blood rained, his garb torn apart by his transformation.

But reality mercilessly scorned Shirou's wishes.

Shirou stared at the thing in front of him, dumbstruck. Flesh had burst as if Gascoigne had been a convenient skin, a garb to be shredded as it revealed its true form.

He stared at the thing that had devoured Gascoigne. The evil within, the disease, the prey...

The blood within him sang, spurred him with eldritch energy. Savage instincts came to the forefront.

There was no turning back.

"Ah..." said Shirou. "Alright. Then I'll do it just like you taught me, Gascoigne."

Emiya Shirou turned his mind into steel.

The Beast charged.

Shirou met it with deadly blades and the eyes of a Hunter.

Unnatural, ebony claws hacked the air. Shirou twisted around them, his weapons rupturing the nigh-impenetrable wall of monstrous skin and muscles. Blood splattered their surroundings with its poisonous disease.

He rolled behind a tombstone. It trounced the construction with a sweep of its paw and tried to body-slam him with its impossible mass.

Shirou jumped to his right and stabbed his crimson-tinted swords deep into its chest. A with a loud squelch resounded, but it dug its feet. It howled victoriously.

His eyes went wide as it pounced. His skin set burned as if set on fire as claws lacerated from his shoulder down to his ribs. It followed up, attempting to slash his face, but he ducked underneath it.

Shirou's loose limbs twisted like a snake, drawing rivers of blood as his swords bit into the Beast's skin again and again. Deep gashes littered the skin of the monsters, gore trimming down its fur and painting it in red.

He hadn't accounted that it would deliberately leave openings. He hadn't accounted for that kind of intelligence being left.

He wouldn't repeat that mistake.

It snarled, a gravelly sound bursting from its throat. It leaped high into the air and descended like a comet.

The ground beneath him shook, dust and clod went flying. Shirou's feet fought for balance in the calamitous crash. It skewered his stomach, a familiar wound, and Shirou vomited blood. His body arched up with the force of the blow. Its jagged claws left more ruin in their wake as it removed them, but Shirou steeled himself.

Red running down his chin, he pushed his arms to their limits. The force of his rampage stunned the Beast. The blood pouring out of its wounds fell over his own and partially healed it.

The Beast let out a frenzied howl and attempted to hammer him down. Shirou hopped back and, with a clean cut, slashed its eye, leaving a bloody empty socket.

It didn't stop. Leaping into the air, the creature slashed. The vicious claws drew blood from the crown of his head before he could dodge it, ripping skin and hair in one.

It pounced again. Shirou rolled away from its swipes and charged, slashing its savage arms while deftly avoiding its blood-tainted claws.

Yet, it persisted, refusing to be struck down by such wounds.

Blood oozed from his wounds, and he felt the strength of his blows diminishing. Shirou gritted his teeth and renewed his efforts, a vicious hurricane of cuts mutilating the Beast.

Until his heel tripped on shards of stone. Icy tendrils gripped his chest as he fell. It lunged.

Shirou spun on the ground, and claws burrowed into the stone. Shirou threw himself to his feet but the beast was quicker. It sprung on him, the mass of fur and animalistic muscles clambering for a swipe to his head.

He rose a blade as a shield and it skewered the Beast's paw. It roared, wild and furious. Its other arm swung down, and his chest was marked by deep gouges. The reinforced garb was nothing more than fragile paper to its power.

Gaining back distance, Shirou positioned himself behind a tree. The Beast annihilated every obstacle in its way, a mad glint of a starving monster in its eyes.

The Blades of Mercy were not weapons meant for brute-force, but for a battle of speed, patience and careful positioning.

It demolished the tree, bark flying outwards with a resounding crash. Wood slammed on the ground and it leaped over the remains to detach his head.

Wounds that should've stopped it were ignored. The horrid gouges in its chest that should've stopped its heart, the mangled tendons that shouldn't work anymore; it ignored everything with unholy will.

Useless. A war of attrition would lead to his defeat.

The Beast bounded to the side. He lunged with an attack, perilously close.

It swung its arms in defense and he ducked underneath it. A glint of intelligence shone in its eyes again as he rose, and it swiped down with all the force of its rage. He pivoted on his foot, but it rammed him down on the ground.

Lengthened claws through the leather and animal skin and into his chest, the entire weight of the gigantic beast on his body. Yet, there was no victory in its eyes.

His blades, lodged into its brain made sure of it. It let out a strangled whimper as it fell to his side when he pushed it, a resounding crash of meat against cobble.

Purposefully inviting a mortal wound just to get a single, clean hit was the hallmark of a beast.

But it was also that of a good hunter.

Shirou coughed, and splinters of bone punctured skin and organs underneath. He gazed at it with his one functioning eye.

"Aaaaaah," it moaned. "S—shi..."

Shirou looked at its eyes. Close-lidded, as if he had just woken up. The animalistic features softening, its chest gently rising and falling, the old rage nothing more than a bad dream.

"T-th-thank yooouu," whispered Gascoigne. The Blades of Mercy lingered in him, a testament to his execution. "Th-thank y-y-yoouu Shiii...rou..."

Its eyes closed in peace, never to open again.

The steel in Shirou's mind dented.

He pushed himself up with shaky arms. His legs, with the strength he had left, propped him up, and he swayed. For a second, his mind took him to Hell, burning buildings and screams, but reality asserted itself, a different kind of hell.

_"A fine mess you found yourself in, kid," he said. "Don't worry. You're safe now."_

More memories came.

_"Will I be taller than Shirou, daddy?" Arabella asked, hopeful._

_Gascoigne caressed her cheek with a finger. "Oh, of course dear."_

His failing heart clenched for the little girl.

_"You're a good kid, Shirou."_

A tear dripped down his cheek.

There were memories. Memories of warmth and happiness made in this unforgiving world.

He searched through his mind and killed them, to be buried somewhere he would never have to look at them again.

Such was the price for his sin, even if it brought peace for the man he couldn't remember anymore.

"I'm so tired..."

Shirou's legs buckled and he fell, his back sliding on the stone of Oedon's Tomb. His eyes fell close, almost like in a whim, and his worries now seemed far away. His ruined heart slowed, longing for rest.

The Moon shone brightly through the ceiling's gap, for him and only him. Its light draped over his body like the embrace of a mother. It watched him proudly.

And so, Emiya Shirou breathed his last.

* * *

**End of Arc 1.**


	11. Chapter 9

**I LIVE!**

**Sorry it took so long guys. I had a pretty good job opportunity and, unfortunately, writing fanfiction can't be the priority in that kind of situation.**

**Even if I really wanted to write this lol.**

**Chapter 9**

* * *

He woke up with the taste of copper in his mouth and remnants of different scents lingering in his mind – of grave dirt, steel and blood. Cold cobble was pressed against his cheek.

Eyes that had shut to never open again blearily took in the surroundings – an uneven cobble road that forked into many directions and fields of greenery and white flowers, expelling an alien scent that soothed his frazzled mind. Tombstones littered the fields, hundreds of them spread with no rhyme or reason. Lungs that had stopped now sucked in the gelid, clear air.

A heart that had beaten its last pulsed with life again.

Emiya Shirou rose to his feet, impossibly alive.

"Where am I..." he mumbled, gingerly patting his pristine garb, devoid of bloodstains or gashes.

He remembered the Tomb. He remembered accepting his fate as strength was drained of him by too many wounds.

His fingers clenched around his temples, and Shirou looked down at his feet.

He remembered taking someone important down with him. Someone he forgot, or rather, chose to forget.

If he was truly alive – even if the notion seemed absurd after what he went through - then there were things he had to do,

A pressure began building in his nape, the unmistakeable sensation of someone watching him. However, unlike the bloodlusted gaze of beasts, there was no malice in it.

Whoever it was, they meant him no harm. Shirou turned to look at his watcher.

"Hello, Good Hunter," it said, punctuating its greeting with a curtsey.

A tall woman stood at the base of a stairway. She had soft, feminine features and unblemished skin.

Unnatural. That person – if it could be called that – wasn't human. It regarded him with a serene gaze that had an odd tenderness in its carefully wrought porcelain eyes.

"What are you?" asked Shirou. Despite the lack of a visible threat, Shirou's hand reached for a weapon, only to find his none attached to his garb.

_Steel clashed with steel, and shards of Shirou's weapon flew overhead._

He had lost them, hadn't he? In that fight, the beginner's weapon had been easily shattered by an experienced hunter's blows.

Stranded in this strange place and without a weapon...

His hand clenched around a hilt that wasn't there yet, his mind's eye filled with the image of two swords that would give him the power to cut his way through any enemies.

A switch had been flicked after his last fight. Shirou was never without a weapon so long as he could imagine it and make that image real.

It was his true ability as a Magus.

If it noticed his intentions, it gave no signals. "I am a doll, here in this dream to look after you," the Doll intoned with a melodious voice, "I understand that my appearance may be unsettling. I apologize if I upset you." She gave a small, deferent bow.

'Yeah, she definitely noticed,' he thought wrily. He wondered if someone had leveled a weapon at her before.

Despite himself, Shirou let his guard down for the moment. Unnatural as she was, something about her was telling him that she was no threat for him. It was a strange instinct, but he had learned to trust his gut-feelings.

But, as Henryk had taught him, he kept his weapons ready to be deployed, preparing himself for the worst.

"I have a lot of questions," he said.

Her eyes shut regretfully. "I'm afraid I may not be capable of answering all of them, Good Hunter. I am but an inhabitant of this dream; I know very little of the waking world. If advice is what you desire, you must seek council with Gherman." She turned to look at the house atop the small hill, and Shirou followed her gaze.

The cobblestone pathway up to it was bordered by a line of graves neatly ordered, each ornamented by rows of candles. Far away, behind trees and foliage, he thought he saw a different tombstone, tinted in gold and blue, but pushed it back for now.

"There's someone else here, then?"

"Yes, Gherman has been waiting for your arrival. He was a hunter long, long ago, but now serves to advise young hunters such as yourself. He has been waiting for your arrival."

Cavernous noises rang in the still air and the bony-white abominations sprouted from the ground, pawing enthusiastically at his direction, groaning and reaching for him.

"So they are here too, huh?" he wondered out loud. More groans reached his ears, and he looked to his left. Nearby, there was a stone birdbath populated with more of them. Just out from the small hill, another birdbath had the creatures swimming inside it.

Her features lit up. "Ah, you mean the little ones?" she said. "Yes, it is within their abilities to reach any place in the cosmos. They seem to be very fond of you, Good Hunter."

He drew his leg back before one tugged at his garb. "You know what they are?"

"They are inhabitants of the dream. They find hunters and worship, serve them. Aren't they sweet?" She knelt beside them and extended ball-jointed hands to their skeletal own. They ran spectral fingers over her palm, as if caressing it.

'That's what they've been doing?' mused Shirou. Serving and worshipping him?

Shirou's eyes crinkled. "Uh, they don't have to...worship me. They have to have better things to do than following me around, right?"

She tilted her head. "Not that I know of. The little ones are at their most joyful when they have a hunter such as yourself to serve."

Shirou ran his hand on his hair. "Alright, you'd know more than me." He steeled himself. "Speaking of, where are we?"

The Doll had said something about a Dream. 'If this is some kind of afterlife', he thought, gazing at the gravestones, 'then the gods have a pretty bad sense of humor'.

She rose. "We are within the Hunter's Dream. Your spirit was retrieved after your demise so you could be healed and return to the waking world."

"You...resurrected me?" Dumbfounded, Shirou closed his hands, feeling the tightening of muscles and the pressure on his skin. He registered the weight of his garb and the pressing of animal fur against his body. He took a slow breath of the crisp air. Every sensation had a whole different meaning now. "How?"

She shook her head, the motion all too human-like. "Gherman has asked me to take you to him. I believe he wants to answer your questions himself. But I will be here for you, honorable hunter. Pursue the echoes of blood, and I will channel them into your strength and embolden your sickly spirit." She smiled softly at him. "Such is my purpose."

'Echoes...' Gil had said something about them. 'Could they be used for magecraft like that?'

"Alright, then I'll go talk to him."

He walked up the cobbled pathway, glancing at the tombstones. The hairs of his skin prickled when he got close, reacting to the power emanated by them.

Shirou looked up at the bright, pale sky and the bright Moon, hanging impossibly down. Something about this place wasn't right, almost like it was an entirely different world.

Nearly as uncanny as the devotion in the Doll's eyes, so similar to how Kiritsugu had looked at him once upon a time.

At the center of the house, an old man with shoulder-length, gray hair sticking out of his top hat and sunken features wrecked by age sat in a wheelchair, watching him coming in. He was hunched down, leaning on a cane and clad in a formal, but worn-down hunter's attire.

Around him, books, loose paper and trinkets were strewn carelessly about the wooden floor, lined with enough dust that urged him to grab a vacuum and turn this place upside-down. Along the walls sat a large chest, and at the room's other end stood an altar, ornamented with candles like the tombstones below.

"Ah-hah, you must be the new hunter – you certainly took your time. Welcome to the Hunter's Dream," he said. He spoke smoothly, as if every word was chosen with careful deliberation. "This will be your home, for now."

'My home?'

Apparently, he had been kidnapped.

By an old man in a wheelchair and a living Doll.

Shirou sighed. He probably shouldn't dismiss the dangers of his situation like that, but right now he was finding it hard to remember why he should be startled. Something about them, about this place...

He shook his head. "Sorry, but I won't be here for long old man. Can I just ask some questions before I leave?"

"Leave?" said Gherman, the corners of his lips quirking up. "My, you are taking this better than most that pass through here. I am Gherman, friend to you hunters," he said silkily. "You seem to be in a fine haze right now." He coaxed his wheelchair closer.

Gherman leaned ahead, propping his elbows over his knees and steepled his fingers. "Don't think too hard about this, it will pass soon enough. Just go out and kill a few beasts. It's for your own good. It's what hunters do, after all!" He chuckled, a rickety noise.

Shirou jolted, suddenly alert. The casual way the old man spoke about the Hunt grated at him like an open wound. "If you think the hunt is good in any way, then you're out of your mind, old man."

Gherman looked up, humming. "Oh...true, I suppose. I can see you are a foreigner, but not quite a stranger to Yharnam's ways." He leveled an assessing look at Shirou. "And you don't seem too bothered by them, even after seeing the madness and the slaughter."

He looked at Gherman with a frown. A glint of wisdom, of _insight_ shone in the old eyes, as if he peered into his soul.

"Fearlessness..." enunciated Gherman, as if testing the word. He chuckled drily. "What an unfortunate trait on a hunter."

A growing discomfort bloomed deep in his gut the more he heard Gherman talk. 'Better to just finish this.'

But a sudden thought stopped him. The Doll had known about the monsters – Little Ones, as she had called them – and told him that Gherman was more knowledgeable than her.

If he wanted answers, perhaps he could find them here.

"Why did you kidnap me?" he said.

"Kidnap? No, I assure you your arrival was very much consensual. You did sign a contract; don't you remember?"

_"Good. All signed and sealed."_

Shirou shook his head, unnerved by the strange memory. Something had happened, back in the clinic, before he had met Iosefka and when reality had seemed to wink out.

Mind-numbing pain, a sense of rightness, _a beast purified by a cleansing fire... _

"Always an unpleasant memory, the first ministration. Fear not, Good Hunter, I shall guide you as best as I can. It is all I can do, unfortunately."

"...how am I alive?" Shirou finally asked.

"Well, as you likely suspect, you died in the Hunt. However, since you signed our peculiar contract, death doesn't mean the end for you."

"Am I...immortal, then?"

The very idea shook him to the core. That day, when he was a child among fire, ash and cries for help, he had come to peace with his own mortality.

Trudging along the jagged path of the Hunt only gave strength to these thoughts. He didn't want to die – not without becoming a Hero of Justice and certainly not so early in his life – but reality couldn't be so easily ignored. A single blow he had failed to dodge could have led to his death.

It had been a fact, an inescapable truth. Now, with the backing of this strange dream, was his life now a currency he could simply spend without a second thought?

"Immortal?" Gherman hummed. "No, not quite. Such a moniker should be reserved for the likes of the Queen of the Vilebloods and other, more inhuman creatures. You are merely...undying, I suppose." He gave a raspy laugh. "Until you fulfill your purpose, that is."

That set off alarm bells in Shirou's mind. "I already have one, thanks," he said. "What do you want from me?"

"You have come from a far-away land, yes?"

Shirou let pass the jarring change of subject. For now, he had to humor Gherman "Yeah. You wouldn't find it on any map in Yharnam."

"Then, for you to be attracted to this land and this Dream, something deep within your being resonated with the dream, longing for its assistance. Your purpose will be better served with its resources at your disposal." He locked eyes with Shirou. "Tell me, Good Hunter, what do you seek from the Hunt?"

"I want to find the truth," declared Shirou. "The whole truth. I want to know what caused the Scourge and how to stop it."

He didn't want half-hearted measures, an incomplete salvation. Henryk had had the right idea back then; Shirou simply didn't know better back then.

And he had something Henryk hadn't at his disposal. A different world, bursting with technology, magecraft and other resources, that he perhaps could bring to Yharnam through these lanterns.

Shirou would save this world, but for that, he had to look at its past.

"You seek the truth..." Gherman laughed. There was no humor in it. "Dear oh dear, the most dangerous pursuit of all. You set your sights far and wide, Good Hunter. I shall hope you don't lose yourself to the beckoning of the secrets hidden in this night."

Gherman's hands clenched together over the cane, frail, spindly fingers going white with the force. Silence reigned as Shirou gathered his wits.

"A friend told me about a place – Byrgenwerth," he started. "He thought he could find answers in that school. How do I get there?"

Gherman's posture seemed to soften, and he regarded Shirou with a nostalgic look. "Hmm, your friend is well-informed. Byrgenwerth was a college dedicated to the study of the old blood," he said, smiling. "However, to find it, you must traverse the Forbidden Woods, an old forest that was quarantined by the Church a long time ago, and you won't find it without the password know only to its scholars."

"So I have to find the password and then cross these Forbidden Woods?"

Gherman nodded with a small chuckle, amused by how simple he made it sound. "Correct. I wish you the best of luck, Good Hunter."

He paused, his jaw bobbing down as if deep in thought. Gherman looked at him with a serious gaze that, for a second, made Shirou see the formidable hunter beneath the marks of age, rusted but still strong.

"The moon is close. It will be a long hunt tonight," said Gherman "Remember these words, Good Hunter. To find what you seek, you must uncover Yharnam's many secrets and sins. You shall only have what you desire after reaching the farthest corners of the cosmos."

"The cosmos?" asked Shirou.

The image of the Moon, bright and bathing him with its light came to the forefront of his thoughts. So far away, yet _so close..._

Gherman grimaced, but didn't respond. "Seek Paleblood to transcend the Hunt, Good Hunter."

And with these words, Gherman wheeled around and left through the other door, leaving Shirou with more questions than he initially had.

He walked down the cobble path. The Doll told him more, of the little ones – Messengers, as Hunters would usually call them, she explained. She told him about the power of the echoes, and of the tombstones, which could take him anywhere that had a lantern residing on it.

The Messengers gave him a small bell that, when rung, would call hunters from other worlds to help him. His hypothesis that this was a different world or even a new dimension grew in response.

There was much to think about. The impossibility that was the Dream and its many resources, his newfound purpose and second chance in life.

Shirou wasn't an idiot. Gherman, the Doll, an unknown; someone was pulling his strings, trying to use him.

But he would deal with that problem later. He didn't mind them wanting to use him.

Not if he could use these powers to prevent more tragedies from happening.

* * *

The lantern shone softly beside him as Shirou materialized in the Tomb of Oedon.

Just like the Doll had told him, the tombstone had given him access to any lantern he had passed by.

Dust floated languidly in the air. Dead trees, severed and chinked with their remains spread all over the graveyard. The gravestones were launched chaotically around as if a hurricane had wrecked the land. Translucent spirits hacked the air, rolled and dodged around him - an effect of his new bell, surely.

Shirou looked at the crooked Tomb of Oedon. He had died there. Died with his legs giving out and an exhausted spirit, the weight of his many wounds siphoning his will off until they finally claimed his life.

And where he had breathed his last, a thick, translucent stain called to him, to his touch. It was crimson and pulsed with eldritch life, but bereft of the pervasive scent of blood. The Doll's words came back to him.

_"Pursue the echoes of blood, and I will channel them into your strength and embolden your sickly spirit. Such is my purpose."_

It churned as he approached, more intensely the closer he got. It longed to return to him, and some deep instinct within him agreed.

If this would give him more strength, then he would gladly take it back.

Shirou extended his hand to claim what was his.

Thousands of echoes poured through his glove and pervaded the pores of his skin. His arm and then his shoulder convulsed as dark energy melded with the cursed blood running through his veins.

_"DIE!"_

_"CURSED BEAST!"_

_"AAARGH!"_

Screams, wails and _rage_ blared in his mind. Hundreds, thousands, growing and coalescing until his body was made of curses.

Shirou pushed back, meeting the storm of grudges with steely will. He gritted his teeth as the unending torrent slammed against his defenses.

'As if I'll lose for just memories!' His magic circuits roared to life, and the infusion of mana struck the grudges, forming a second barrier between him and them.

Then, a wave of calmness came, devoid of the despair and rage of the echoes. It was large, easily dwarfing all the others, and slowly erased their strength and soothed his spirit, as if thanking him for his efforts.

Shirou stood, panting, as the echoes of his enemies settled, a second skin that overlayed with his own. Their vice-like grip that had constricted his body became a mere bad memory.

"...everyone I killed," he whispered.

It was cruel. He had to live with the reminders of his sins so he could be strong enough for them not to happen again.

The memory of the last wave, of a sigh filled with deep-seated relief came unbridled.

_"Th-thank y-y-yoouu Shiii...rou..." _

And Shirou remembered there were more than just echoes of the dead in this Tomb.

With a twist of his heel, Shirou turned his gaze to the still fresh corpse of an enemy he had just defeated.

Its corpse lay utterly still over a pool of its own blood. Two swords skewered its skull, but the lupine face was peaceful, unmarked by the feral instincts of the scourge.

His heart ached, even though he had locked the memories away. Once, the beast lying in a pool of its own blood had been a human being, like everyone else in Yharnam. A troubled one, but with a life sprinkled by small shares of happiness.

Once, Shirou had been close to it, before a turn of fate drew them one against the other. That much he knew.

That weight on his heart had to be discarded, otherwise he could never move forward.

It was the only way Shirou knew how to.

Shirou walked on the grounds claimed by the dead, until he found what he had been searching for. He picked up the shovel and began digging.

He burrowed it deeply into the soil, launching back chunks of it. He dug and dug, and the repetitive movements shielded him from the woes of the past and worries about the future.

At this moment, his only purpose was to give a small sense of closure to a tragedy he had failed to prevent.

Then, he dug another. A smaller one, right next to the first, for the woman that, in her last days, had finally warmed up to him.

But those wouldn't be the last memories he would have of her. What remained was her still body and lifeless eyes, wearing the beautiful red brooch her daughter had loved.

There was no way to know how long had passed until he dragged the corpses to their graves – he took a key from the corpse of the beast, aware of its usefulness - and filled them back with soil, burying a friend he didn't remember and a woman he had failed to save.

Shirou gazed at the graves, and the chaotic world of Yharnam was silent for once. Both of them were now free from their obligations and cares. Free from the city that would consume itself until nothing remained.

The idea dangled itself to him, promising him the sweet release, a freedom from the self-imposed responsibilities that were shattering his heart like glass.

"No..." He gritted his teeth. "I can't accept that."

Shirou threw himself to his feet and approached the lantern. It gleamed invitingly at him with the pale light of the moon, a beacon that would make his journey easier.

His arms and legs could still move. He was strong – stronger than he ever thought possible. This world still walked towards its end. He couldn't stop; he hadn't earned his rest yet.

Shirou threw a last look back at the impromptu graves.

As he left more corpses in his wake to uncover Yharnam's secrets, he likely never would.

And so he went, trudging toward the truth with fake conviction.

Even if, deep down, he would curse himself for it.

* * *

Shirou arrived at the familiar house, carrying with him the terrible weight of his news.

He told the little girl that she was an orphan now. She cried and cried, and he stood immobile beside the dimly lit windows. When her sobbings lessened, he asked her to open the door.

Her voice was cut by her sniffing. "Where are we going, Shirou?"

"We're going to Oedon Chapel. You'll be safe there."

"Okay...I remember daddy told me to go if-" She cried louder. "If anything happened to him and mummy."

The padlocks were undone and the little girl walked out, out of place with her small frame and innocent, grey eyes shining with tears.

These eyes looking at him were like knives stabbing his heart, but he looked back all the same. He offered her a blindfold.

"It's dangerous out there, so I don't want you to see all the fighting. Viola would never forgive me if I did," he explained.

Arabella shook her head. "It's okay Shirou. I am not afraid of the Hunt," she said. "I heard grandpa's stories and he always smelled like blood. I know he and daddy hurt people."

"Then do it for me, please."

She bobbed her head and obliged. "It's just like daddy's." She clutched it tighter. "Isn't there anything I can do to help?" she pleaded.

"Your grandpa said your nose would keep you out of trouble. He was pretty proud of it."

"He really said that?"

"He didn't have to - I could see he was. You can do that for us now. What do you think?"

"Yes, I can do it!" And her voice sounded just a little better, livelier.

Before throwing himself and the little girl into the hunt, he took her to the lantern, hoping for the best.

But when she looked at its direction, all she could see was an empty street and crimson-tainted cobblestone.

The Dream's blessings, of limitless chances at life and a safe haven were for him and him alone.

A wave of raw, unadulterated rage crashed into his mind and infected his being with its poisonous touch. His hands clenched as if the fingers would puncture holes into his palms and his teeth gnashed together like these of a wild beast.

**It was always like this.**

A tiny hand touched his forearm. Wide, grey eyes gazed up at him with worry. "Shirou? You're scaring me..."

And the animalistic fury that set ablaze his blood was abated instantly. His coiled limbs loosened painfully as he took slow, deliberate breaths that let out shaky puffs of air into the cold atmosphere.

Shirou tried to twist the muscles of his mouth and cheeks into a smile, and the result was so brittle that a light breeze could have cracked it. "Sorry Arabella, I was just a little upset. Pull your blindfold back on, we got a long way to go."

"Okay."

She pulled it back with unconditional trust, something he was thankful for.

Even if he didn't deserve it.

He slaughtered the few beasts that had ventured close to them. Most of the times, she had succeeded at keeping them away from trouble.

It was a useful ability, even if Shirou himself would never find a use for it. Often, he was the one looking for fights. It had been like that before the Hunt.

Perhaps it was only in those times a Hero of Justice could exist.

Drenched in cursed blood as he was, Arabella's presence kept away the savage instincts that at times cajoled him with the comfort of a life free of guilt and responsibilities, and at others fanned the flames of the wrath within him that grew by the day.

He chained the beast thrashing inside of him, eager to take his body for itself.

As long as there was someone to be saved, he could endure it with a mind of steel.

They arrived at the Tomb, and Arabella sobbed again, this time to her parents' graves. Her tiny body knelt in front of the recently overturned soil and her tears dripped down on it. Shirou watched it blankly, burning it into his memory.

Failure had a steep price in this world.

Then, when she finally seemed to run out of tears, they set out for the Chapel. He opened the gate with his key, and they walked in. They went through the flooded basement and she hopped on his back as he climbed the ladder up, and crossed the reading room filled with trinkets and books in a state of disarray. He hoped she would be entertained by them.

The night would be long.

Past all of it and a set of winding stairs, the double doors waited for them. Shirou opened the heavy doorway creaked and groaned as the grand hall stood in front of them, bathed in dim light and with its air filled with the pungent scent of incense.

Shirou's gaze fell on a girl standing in the center of the hall.

His eyes widened. "You are..."

And with equally wide eyes, Shinji's little sister looked back at him.

Aaaand done! Hope you guys liked the beginning of Arc 2.

Now, onto the question that really matters. Is Sakura locked in there with the alien gods and beasts or are the alien gods and beasts locked in there with Sakura? Food for thought.


	12. Chapter 10

Jesus fuck, this chapter grew completely out of control. Honestly, I had planned two chapters for this, but I just couldn't fit enough content to make the first one good. So, a single chapter almost 1k words bigger than my former record.

No matter how I look at it, it's a fucking mess. I'll let you guys decide if it's a horrible mess or a glorious mess.

* * *

**Chapter 10**

The grand hall of the chapel was bathed by the dim light of the evening sun. Dozens of statues were scattered across the stark constructions of stone and steel – reaching to the skies and praying - and circular, religious symbols were carved along the floor.

Abundant, thick mist – a larger amount of incense than Shirou had ever seen in one place – exuded a pungent scent that drove Arabella to dry coughs and scratched at Shirou's throat like acrid smoke.

Arabella tugged on his sleeve, cheeks still stained with dry tears. "Do you know that girl, Shirou?"

Shirou nodded faintly. "Yeah, something like that."

The purple-haired girl broke eye contact, looking down at the floor and shrinking on herself.

Someone from Fuyuki was on Yharnam too. The craving to question her struck him as if he was a starving man and just hadn't known it; if she knew anything about their circumstances, about how and why they were summoned to this world, but...

His gaze fell on the desolate little girl who had just lost her entire world.

There were more important things to do first.

"...hm? Oh, you must be a hunter. Very sorry, the incense must've masked your scent," a dark-skinned man said.

He was sitting to their right, blood-red mended rags pooling around his skeletal frame. His gaunt skin was sallow and his hands were disproportionately long, with bony fingers and nails blackened with grime and dust.

Arabella hid behind his legs, maybe frightened by the sight of the strange man. "Yeah, I noticed." He looked around the chapel. "Did you set this all up?"

His voice grew high-pitched. "Yes, yes! This here's a safe place. Stay as long as you like." He nodded fervently as if reassuring himself.

Shirou scrutinized the man, who seemed to whittle in response. "...thanks."

He walked to the center of the chapel, Arabella dutifully following. He stole a glance at the familiar girl, but she seemed lost in her own world, staring with vague eyes at the floor.

"Alright," said Shirou, rolling his shoulders. "Want to see a magic trick, Arabella?"

She peered at him with dubious eyes. "A magic trick?"

"That's right. Don't blink." Shirou knelt on the floor, a good distance from the more incense-covered parts, and extended his hand. "Trace on."

The image formed in his mind and then into the real world. A pouf appeared where his hand pointed to, bright red and completely at odds with the Chapel's somber atmosphere.

Arabella looked at it with wide eyes. "How did you do that?" She squeezed it. "So soft..."

"Magecraft..." a whisper floated in the air. Shirou's sharp ears picked it up and he turned to Shinji's little sister, who immediately looked away, lips scrunched in self-recrimination.

'So she is a magus too,' thought Shirou. Did that mean Shinji was one as well? Magecraft was passed down in the family, or so Kiritsugu had told him.

Now he definitely had to talk to her.

He smiled at Arabella, filing the information for later. "Yeah, it's pretty comfortable, right? Much better than one of those chairs. I'd make a bed but I'm not sure I could make a good one yet." He looked at Shinji's sister. "Do you want one too?"

She shook her head almost frantically and looked down.

'She's pretty shy.' With Shinji as a brother, he could easily see his boisterous personality overwhelming that of a younger sibling.

Shirou rose up, and the wonder at his magecraft seemed to be fading from Arabella's eyes. She looked at him pleadingly. "You're not going out on a hunt now too, right Shirou?"

He shook his head. "No, I'll stay here with you until you sleep. You need your rest – we walked a pretty long way to get here."

Tears threatened to well inside her grey eyes. "But you'll go later."

Shirou ran a hand on the back of his head. 'I'm completely out of my depth, aren't I?'

"Yeah...I'll have to. But I'll go the same way your grandpa did, so I'll try to bring him here too."

"Grandpa..." She wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her dress. "Promise?"

_He had promised something to her mother once. The girl shouldn't trust him._

"Yeah," he said, hoping his smile wouldn't crack. "I promise."

Arabella crawled on the pouf and curled into a ball. She buried her face into it and grew silent.

Shirou leaned on the wall nearby, a stalwart vigilant. Every now and then the purple-haired girl snaked glances at him; even if she was shy, he doubted she wasn't glad someone from Fuyuki was here with her.

In turn, he scrutinized the dweller, who seemed content in minding his own business, rolling a pebble on his hands. There was no way to know the kind of person he was and Shirou wouldn't always be around, so he had to make sure he wouldn't harm the girls.

If he tried to, he would be no different from a beast in Shirou's eyes.

After a few minutes had passed, Arabella's breath settled into a low hum, and her eyes drifted closed.

'She must have been tired...'

She had every reason to be.

With measured steps, so he wouldn't wake her up, Shirou pushed himself away from the wall and strolled towards Shinji's sister. As he drew closer, her arms folded tightly around her belly and she seemed to find the floor very interesting.

His eyes fell on his bloody garb and he was reminded that he probably smelled of blood and death. 'I got to work on my first impressions.'

He knelt beside her chair, deliberately giving her a wide berth.

"I remember meeting you," he said, the faint memories hazy in his mind, "but I didn't get your name."

"It's Matou...Sakura," she said. Her voice was hoarse and reserved, as if she was unused to speak.

"Emiya Shirou," he said. "Sorry that you had to go through...well, Yharnam," he said. "Do you know how you got here?"

She shook her head in denial.

Shirou sighed. So much for that. "Do you come to Yharnam every time you sleep?"

"Yes."

"Yeah, I used to do it as well. You're a magus, right?"

She nodded hesitantly.

"Any clues what is going on with us?"

Her small hands balled into fists. "...no. I tried, but I couldn't find anything about this."

Shirou sighed, and guilt washed over him as her disposition seemed to wilt further at his disappointment.

He decided to ask the most important question. "Can you fight?"

She shook her head more vigorously this time. "No, I'm not strong like the hunters," she said, tone heavy.

Something about how she said that; the clear self-recrimination and regret made his heart clench.

She didn't deserve to go through this. No one did.

Shirou smiled at her. "Alright. Then I'll protect you."

Sakura whirled and stared at him with her purple eyes wide open. It was the first time he could take a good look at her. She had shoulder-length hair tied with a ribbon, purple eyes – the same color of her hair, a slender neck and smooth-looking lips.

A traitorous part of his mind appreciated the sight. 'Of all times to notice things like these,' he reprimanded himself, hoping she wouldn't notice his flushed cheeks.

"I can't let Shinji's little sister get hurt. That guy wouldn't let me live it down," he said, now looking at the floor for salvation himself.

To his disappointment, she seemed to withdraw again. "Thank you senpai, but you don't need to do that. I'm..." she trailed off, lips thinning.

"Sorry, but I already made up my mind – no take-backs. Us dimensional travelers have to stick together, yeah?"

She gave him a strange look. "Dimensional travelers?" she muttered.

Shirou shrugged. "Honestly, it's as good a guess as any. I'm not much of a magus, so I don't have a clue."

Sakura gave a slow nod.

Even someone as clueless as him – it wasn't like he had ever been very good at reading people – could tell she wasn't convinced yet, but pressuring her probably would only make things worse.

"That guy," he said, looking at the dark-skinned man, "can I trust him?"

"He's a good man," she said, surprisingly firm. "He won't do anything to hurt your friend."

Shirou grinned. "Ah, if you can say that so certainly then I'm relieved."

Before she could respond, her mouth stretched into a long yawn, and her cheeks darkened. She threw a worried glance at him, as if expecting him to make fun of her.

"You're about to wake up," said Shirou. "Don't try to hold it back – it never works." Words came back to him; words that were useless to him but, maybe, could bring some small comfort to her. "Put tonight behind you like a bad dream. Things will be better on Fuyuki."

To his dismay, her face went blank, like something had drained the light from her eyes. "Yes, thank you senpai," she said.

He couldn't get anything right tonight, it seemed.

Shirou smiled tentatively. "I'll see you on Fuyuki, then."

Sakura gave a small nod. "Okay."

Her eyes fluttered closed and, after a few seconds, her body began losing its form, diffusing like something had run an eraser over her figure. Through the shimmer of mist that had become Sakura, he could see the chair and the wall behind her.

Sakura's body disappeared; a simple dream that had overstayed its welcome.

Shirou's gaze flew to Arabella and the dweller. Arabella remained fast-asleep, but the dweller showed no reaction to Sakura's disappearance; he even waved at Shirou's direction when he caught his gaze.

Henryk had never noticed anything odd, either. No words about how Shirou would materialize in odd places and disappear for hours to come for apparently no reason at all.

A chill fluttered down his spine. It was yet another thing he had to investigate.

But first...

Shirou projected a Hunter Axe, the most dangerous-looking weapon he could think of. He approached the dweller like a hunter stalking his prey.

And after the sobbing man, with his milky-white blind eyes wide open and shaking like a leaf, swore to every deity he knew he wouldn't do anything, Shirou went to the lantern lying in the center of Chapel.

Was this the kind of hero Kiritsugu had dreamed to be? A hero who would threaten a seemingly good man for no reason but to minimize risks?

He buried these thoughts under a mind of steel.

There was no space to be indecisive, not after everything he went through.

* * *

Shirou reappeared into his shed, surrounded by his many tools and trinkets. His Hunter's Garb hadn't vanished with his departure.

Yharnam was becoming more and more real by the day. The sheer strength he had just gained, granted to him by the Doll's spell as he stopped by the Dream only reinforced that impression.

_"Very well, let the echoes become your strength. Let me stand close, now shut your eyes."_

Echoes of dead foes were now silent, sublimed into raw power that now belonged to him.

He looked outside. The moonlight illuminating the room was sterile and uncaring of his presence, and the streets were silent and peaceful.

"It's still nighttime," he said to himself.

Shirou walked out of the shed and breathed the crisp air.

_the beast looms, fangs bared and stalking its prey_

He froze. A familiar sensation – of mana permeating the atmosphere – draped over him. The same one Kiritsugu's Bounded Field elicited; of an enclosed space with raw intent filling its walls.

That image conjured by his senses...

**He was being hunted.**

Shirou laughed. It was a scornful sound, cursing his luck. "Guess I shouldn't be surprised."

Didn't he have way too many enemies for a fifteen-year-old?

He took a deep breath and directed his attention to his senses. His hearing became attentive to the gusts of wind and the chittering of insects that, for some reason, sent a shiver down his spine. He leveled a sharp gaze to his surroundings – the wide-open space of the Emiya house's garden - looking out for any possible threats closing in.

"Trace on," he chanted.

His circuits burst with mana and an image formed itself in his mind. A familiar weapon, but stronger, refined and repaired many times in workshops scattered across Yharnam.

Henryk's Saw Cleaver materialized in his hand, followed by a projection of his Repeating Pistol. Copying the skills engraved in the Blades of Mercy would be risky, even if his body was stronger than before. Henryk's Saw Cleaver was sturdier than his own had been and he could use it just fine with his own hard-earned skills.

He twirled his Saw Cleaver, extended in its unfurled form, and buried it in the ground to his side. Then, he sat cross-legged on the cold ground, his Repeating Pistol loaded and ready on his hand and waited.

The night went on, uncaring of his predicament. Seconds became minutes, and minutes turned to an hour. He sat, patiently expecting his hunter.

At the edge of his senses, he thought he felt something. Heavy steps began to echo outside.

A man dressed in priestly robes appeared.

He walked in through the gate, eyes immediately falling on Shirou.

He was tall; not as much as the Yharnamites contaminated by the scourge, but still a good foot taller than Shirou at the very least. He had a severe air around him that urged Shirou to take him seriously.

"Who are you?" asked Shirou, subtly adjusting the aim of his pistol.

With his hands clasped behind his back, the priest introduced himself. "I am Kotomine Kirei, a representative of the Holy Church and of Fuyuki's Second Owner. I assume you are Emiya Shirou?"

'This is bad,' he thought with urgency. He had attracted the attention of the Church of all things?

Kiritsugu had told stories about them; of how they chased with religious fervor heretics and sinners.

Magi like him were prime targets on both accounts as far as they were concerned.

"That's me. Why are you here?"

Kotomine huffed. "Isn't it obvious? As a magus, you should know both the church and magi frown upon heretics. By existing as a spellcaster and as a rogue magus intruding into Fuyuki's Second Owner's territory, you have made an enemy of both organizations."

"Then you're here to kill me?"

"Nothing so drastic. As far as I know, you haven't exposed magecraft nor committed any grave crimes in this territory. You could argue your case, but looking at an agent of the church with such unrestrained killing intent won't do you any favors."

Kotomine's voice, gravelly and penetrating, made his limbs feel wooden. It was like he could lure someone into confessing their sins with nothing but his presence and words.

"Sure, I'll invite you inside and make you some tea. That's how I usually respond when a stranger breaks into my home and casts a Bounded Field over it."

Kotomine gave a smile that didn't match his eyes. "My apologies. In emergencies like these, I was taught to venture on the side of caution. It seems the two of us started with the wrong foot, but there is no need for further conflict."

Shirou frowned. "I don't know what you want me to say. I didn't hurt anyone and I didn't expose magecraft – I'm barely a magus at all." And if saying that made the priest underestimate him, all the better. "I can go apologize to the Second Owner if you want me to go and straighten things out, but I was never a threat to Fuyuki."

"Indeed, it is a troubling situation. I expected Emiya Kiritsugu to properly introduce you to this world, but I see that he was remiss in informing you of many things."

The priest smiled, as if he hadn't casually dropped his father's name like that of an old friend's.

Shirou glared at Kotomine. "Where did you hear that name?"

"You may say we were acquaintances. Emiya Kiritsugu was fairly known among certain circles, and our paths crossed more than once – on this very city, no less." Kotomine gave Shirou an assessing look. "I did not expect him to adopt a child, but I suppose it is just fitting."

Shirou's fingers stroke the cold steel of his pistol. "Were you enemies?"

"And why do you assume that, Emiya Shirou?" he taunted.

"He was a magus and you are a priest. Isn't that enough?"

"Such simplistic words..." Kotomine shook his head. "It is true that the Church hunts down magi for their heretical ways, but Emiya Kiritsugu needed no such crutch to leave enemies in his wake." Kotomine let out a rumbling chuckle. "Such is the life of a hero."

"When I was young, I wanted to be a Hero of Justice."

Shirou gritted his teeth. "And were you one of those enemies?" he repeated.

"Long ago, though I assure I bear you no ill-intent for that. A child shouldn't be punished for their parent's crimes."

Shirou shot to his feet. "My father didn't do anything wrong!"

_With tired eyes and a body that withered by the day, Kiritsugu told him an adult couldn't be a hero of justice. _

Eyes that Shirou has been seeing reflected in the mirror lately.

Kotomine regarded him with an amused gaze. "Perhaps. For some, the path he followed could be considered righteous. In that case, he truly committed no crime. Nevertheless, a parent always has a life before the coming of the child, so you shouldn't concern yourself with the kind of man Emiya Kiritsugu was before he met you. Unless..." Kotomine's grin was shark-like. "You plan on following his footsteps?"

_"I'll become one for you," said Shirou, making his lifetime promise. "Just leave your dream to me."_

"That's none of your business."

Kotomine opened his arms wide. "I am not trying to deceive you when I say we don't need to be enemies. Let me put it this way, Emiya Shirou. I have received reports by a reliable source that you have been emitting a very malicious residual mana that could only be resulted by dangerous magecraft."

Shirou grimaced. 'The echoes,' he remembered.

Gil had warned him, and he had felt their malice up close. If someone spiritually-sensitive had been close to him, he knew exactly the kind of impression he would cause.

"Yeah, I can see why you would think that, but I can explain it."

And he wracked his mind for an explanation that didn't involve an entirely different world with unknown magecraft. One that could fool magi that were likely far more knowledgeable and experienced than him.

'I'm screwed, aren't I?'

Kotomine's insincere smile was plastered back on his face. "You see? I have information that you want, and you have information I need. It is enough for a temporary truce, don't you agree?"

Shirou nodded. "Alright, let's-"

_the swarm closed in, hundreds, thousands, wracked with boundless hunger_

Shirou tensed, and so did Kotomine.

"Did you bring someone else with you?" asked Shirou.

"No, I assure you I didn't."

Clouds of insects poured in; from the gate, from over the walls and every corner Shirou could see. A mass of quivering worms burst in from the entrance and formed a circle that melded within itself, emitting wet noises; growing and growing until morphed into a human form.

An old man stood where the worms had coalesced. He had a balding head that was sunken with wrinkles and dark, beady eyes that gleamed with malevolence. He wore a dark-green robe and tapped a walking stick on the floor, holding it with shriveled hands.

"I'm sorry to intrude," it said with a decrepit voice and a mocking smile, "but this little stand-off of yours grew tiresome. An old man like myself shouldn't have to wait in line for his turn."

Static filled Shirou's vision.

The visage of the old man melted, as if his skin was liquefying into a viscous oil that dripped down the ground. His mocking smile remained even as head and limbs dissolved, exuding a putrid scent.

**Rot.**

**Decay.**

**Corruption.**

Shirou's stomach churned, and he slammed a hand over his mouth to stop himself from heaving. The perversion of nature in front of him clacked his cane down.

"Hoh?" the old man mused. "What an interesting face you are making, son of Emiya. Can those eyes of yours see deeper than I thought?"

"One does not need to look deep to know the depths of your depravity, Makiri Zouken," said Kotomine. "What purpose do you have here?"

"I'm afraid that's between the boy and I, priest. I need answers that only he can give," said Zouken. "But I'm feeling merciful tonight, so why don't you scurry back to your little church and repent for your sins? I assume you have accumulated many over the last nine years," he completed with a derisive laugh.

Shirou scrunched his eyes tight and pushed against the vision and its insight, the truth hidden beneath the seemingly human skin. The world reasserted itself, and he was once again looking at the visage of a gaunt old man.

On Yharnam, he had determined that a Hero of Justice should be capable of slaying monsters.

And one worse than anything he had ever seen had presented itself to him.

So it wanted a fight...?

"Trace on." Mana responded to his command and his body brimmed with its power and the reinforcing echoes of hundreds of dead foes. Jagged, green lines adorned his weapon and clothes. Mana pulsed within him with strength it never had before.

He would give it one.

"I'm guessing you're not here for a peaceful conversation," said Shirou.

Zouken's posture changed, becoming guarded, and he appraised Shirou with ancient, shrewd eyes.

"That became impossible when this meddling priest got involved, and the heroic types such as yourself aren't the most cooperative bunch." Zouken sneered. "Such a shame, such a shame. It's always the idealistic who find an early grave."

Shirou clenched tightly the handle of his cleaver. "You can go if you want, Kotomine," he said. "I'll deal with that thing myself."

Zouken cackled, a hoarse laughter like the simultaneous twittering of a thousand insects. "Well said, boy! You heard him, Kotomine Kirei. You will have your chance when the war comes...if you can cling to life long enough, that is."

Kotomine remained where he was, still and severe as a statue. He hmphed. "That won't be possible. As a man of faith, I can't in good conscience let the likes of you to do as they wish." He reached inside of his frock and, with a flick of his wrist, four rapier-like blades surged between his fingers, strangely long, despite their short hilts. He smiled beatifically at Shirou.

"Rejoice, Emiya Shirou," said Kotomine. "The Lord has graced us with the opportunity to rid this world of a great evil. Nothing should please you more, as I'm sure you have inherited Emiya Kiritsugu's will."

Shirou huffed; Kotomine's annoying but cuttingly precise remarks were grating on his nerves. He got into his fighting stance, gaze fixed on Zouken. "Yeah, I guess you're right. Let's cut him to pieces, Kotomine."

Kotomine's knees bent like a predator about to pounce. "Yes, let's."

Zouken slammed his cane down and his familiars took over the field. "As you two wish!" He cackled. "You will be an excellent meal, priest; I always wondered how one as rotten as myself would taste!"

A mass of writhing, rolling worms began forming a circle around them. The air was filled by twittering insects with unnatural, gleaming teeth clacking hungrily.

Shirou spun. His cleaver cut a wide wound in the approaching cloud of insects.

It reformed within a second. Shirou's eyes shot wide and he leaped back. The worms followed, slower than the flying insects but polluting his house's garden until there were few clean spots.

Kotomine bounded closer to Zouken and jumped into the air. He spun, and a Black Key was launched with the force of a bullet.

Zouken's head dissolved, and the weapon burrowed a hole in a wall. Then, with squirming sounds that had a mocking tone, it was reformed.

"Heh, what are you two planning to do with those sticks of yours?" he said.

Shirou hacked at the ground, a torrent of crawling insects coming from below, his sides and from above. Kotomine burst into movement, avoiding attackers of his own.

A weight settled on his right leg and Shirou darted a look at it. Worms crawled on the fabric of his garb, working their way up hungrily.

Eyes wide open, Shirou slaughtered them with his cleaver. Virulent blood rained, and he saw his unprotected shin with several scrapes littering it.

They had bitten through his reinforced garb? Even beast claws had trouble cutting through it!

"Don't let them get close to you!" barked Kotomine. He bounced on a wall and threw another Black Key, unneringly avoiding the masses of Zouken's familiars.

"Right!" Shirou opened fire at the bigger insects, sneaking glances at the rolling worms. The bullets blew them to pieces, but the chitinous noises only grew louder.

It was like fighting a force of nature; a plague that had fallen upon them.

Kotomine, somehow, was within ten meters of Zouken. Veritable walls of carnivorous insects separated them, but he charged, throwing his arms in front of his face. Unlike Shirou's garb, his vest resisted the teeth of the insects.

'He's getting closer to Zouken,' Shirou thought. Did that mean Kotomine had a trump card under his sleeve?

Shirou pushed mana into his cleaver to its limits and swung down. The might blow cleared his surroundings, and he aimed at Zouken. A reinforced bullet pierced through the veil of insects, bursting a hole and opening Kotomine's path wider. Zouken hissed as the bullet punctured his false flesh.

Kotomine, with the force of a wolf in his steps, closed in. His extended arm reached for Zouken's head. A tsunami of worms poured in around him.

The result would be decided by who finished their move first-

A gleaming sword descended from the skies, falling like a comet between the priest and Zouken. Insects scattered, curdling at the mere aftershock caused by its fall, and Kotomine jumped back.

"By the gods, onii-san. I leave you alone for a few days and you already surrounded yourself with such distasteful company," a young voice said from above.

Shirou looked back as a familiar form jumped from his ceiling – small and overflowing with presence - sauntered closer to his side. Blond hair, crimson eyes that glinted in the night and a bright golden circle closing behind him.

"Gilgamesh..." muttered Kotomine.

Shirou threw a glance at Kotomine. So they knew each other?

Zouken frowned. "Hoh? And the golden Servant joins the fray. My, it's almost like the War has already begun. How nostalgic."

Gil grinned. "The feeling isn't mutual at all. Now, could you leave peacefully, Makiri-san?"

"Unfortunately, I can't possibly do that. You see, I was content in looking the other way when Caster brought that strange world so close to our own, but my poor granddaughter got involved in this mess. What else could a dutiful grandfather do but make sure she's protected and safe?" asked Zouken, the parody of a caring smile plastered on his face.

Kotomine snorted beside him. Shirou's hands clenched into fists. "Sakura..."

"So you two have met? Wonderful! My granddaughter is a bit of an introvert, so she needs friends to help her get out of her shell. It'll do Sakura good if you look out for her."

Something in his tone, ominous and eager at the same time, rankled at Shirou's mind like a blaring alarm.

Gil strode ahead, standing fearlessly in front of Zouken by himself. "So you would challenge a Servant and two extraordinarily powerful humans in your lonesome? Has your sanity eroded so far?"

"Oh, but I don't see it that way, King of Heroes. You see, I may not look like it in this frail body of mine, but I'm quite capable of violence," said Zouken. "And an old man like myself should seize the few opportunities life gives me. After all, this is a rare chance to deal with you in a weakened state."

"Weakened?" squeaked Gil, indignation coloring his tone.

Zouken chuckled. "You lack the overwhelming power your original form possessed, so I won't be so remiss as to allow you the chance to return stronger." Dark masses of insects skittered around them, unnatural teeth clacking in hunger. "I'm sorry, but I'll have to hurt you a bit."

The hairs on Shirou's skin stood on their ends, and his innards seemed to freeze under a gelid wind, as if struck by a terrible premonition. Gil was looking down, features obscured by his blond hair and a hand covering his face. Beside him, Kotomine shook his head in resignation.

Then, Gil slowly straightened up, and stared at Zouken with wide, manic eyes. Zouken's self-assured disposition seemed to wilt like the flesh of an old corpse.

Shirou took a step back.

"I see," said Gil, and his lips stretched into a grin, slowly as if his skin would crack under the pressure of his rage. "That's an interesting proposition, Makiri-san. Allow me to make my counter-offer."

Gil raised a hand.

Shirou looked up, and there was light.

A shimmering golden circle took form in the sky, expanding and expanding. It shone brighter than the sun, as if a star had descended from the skies and now illuminated Fuyuki's night.

Shirou's mouth hung wide open. Faintly, at the edge of his sight, he saw Zouken's beady eyes bulging, nearly popping out of his skull, and the old magus' throat let out the strangled gasp of a dying animal.

Kotomine smiled at the sight.

A colossus of steel burst from the portal in all its glory, and the world trembled, as if suddenly the fabric of reality was being stretched thin by a terrible weight. The impossibly gigantic slab of steel had the shape of a blade.

"A sword," whispered Shirou. His eyes prickled with information that was then carved into his mind, an imperfect rendition of its mystic power being formed.

Faintly, as his neurons burned and his magic circuits heated his body to the point he seemed ready to spontaneously combust, Shirou realized he had peered into the realm of gods.

And it lay suspended in the air, the immeasurable mass of divine steel hanging in the skies, held up by Gil's will alone. The blade tipped as the portal shifted downwards, like a missile homing in on their direction.

"This is Ig-Alima," declared Gil, "the divine Mountain-Felling sword. But, for the purposes of this meeting, you may consider it the world's biggest fly-swatter." Gil regarded Zouken with hungry, crimson eyes that smoldered with rage. "Your turn, _mongrel_."

Zouken's chest lurched, as if hundreds of insects were squirming and writhing under his skin. His laughter, a bone-chilling creaking sound rung in the air, like the chirping of a hoard of insects. "Hahahahaha! Well played, King of Heroes. I seem to have overestimated myself," he said.

"You did. Now remove your rotten carcass out of my sight before I put you in a torment greater than even your twisted mind could fathom."

"Oh my, agony surpassing the one I already experience. I'm almost curious," said Zouken. "Very well, I'll retreat for now. You found yourself quite the protector, Emiya. But it's fine, it's fine..." Insects around him scattered, scuttling through the air in dark, skittering clouds. His voice echoed in the night. "I am nothing but patient."

Then, Zouken's body itself dissolved in worms that crept away, leaving no vestiges, as if he had never been there.

Shirou let his breath settle into a calmer pace and observed Kotomine relaxing as well, drawing his Black Keys back into his frock. Gil regarded the place Zouken had been with thinly-veiled distaste.

"Hmph. I shall cherish the memory of his defeated face for the rest of my days," said Kotomine.

"For once, we are in agreement Kirei." Gil sniffed. "Me, weak! Disgusting worm, daring to look down at me," he muttered darkly.

As adrenaline stopped pumping in his veins and the absurdity of this night's events cluttered his mind, all the events fighting for dominance over his thoughts, Shirou quested for something that made sense.

When that failed, Shirou clung to the very little he knew as tested and true.

And with a descending, mighty swing, he slapped the back of Gil's head.

The world seemed to stop, as if even time was unsure of how to follow.

Kotomine muttered a grateful prayer, thanking the powers above for tonight's events.

Gil cried, clutching his head with both hands, and looked at Shirou with wide, teary eyes. "You struck the King!"

"The king was being an idiot!" hollered Shirou. "What the hell were you thinking? Do you want to expose magic for the entire city? You summoned a sword the size of a mountain from a glowing portal in the sky!"

Gil looked at him mutinously. "My subjects shouldn't be deprived of witnessing my magnificence!"

Shirou rose an angry fist. "You were showing off?"

"Of course I was! I was making a point!"

"As amusing as this is," cut Kotomine before Shirou could commit child violence again, "why are you here, Gilgamesh?"

"None of your business," said Gil. "Now that we are in agreement-"

"We are absolutely not," said Shirou, flatly.

"Now that we are in agreement," repeated Gil. He turned to Kotomine. "Onii-san is not a threat to the city, Kirei, so you can go away now," said Gil, making shooing motions with his hands.

Kotomine nodded, eyes closed in contemplation. "My conclusion is the same. Emiya Shirou is a greater danger to himself than to others."

"Shut up, Kotomine."

These words flowed from his mouth like water, so natural they felt to say.

Kotomine frowned. "It seems I'm not wanted here; and after putting my life at risk fighting that abomination." He clasped his hands behind his back and looked up, as if hoping for divine inspiration. "The tribulations of a man of God are never-ending, indeed. I shall reflect upon this."

"So the Church won't hunt me down, then?" asked Shirou. He had to make sure, if nothing else, then for his peace of mind.

"No, you are free to live your life as you wish, though this won't be our last meeting. We have much to discuss still, and I cannot guarantee your safety from other organizations or individuals," he said, with a tight-lipped smile. "Nevertheless, I think our savior would like to have a word with you first."

Gil kept staring away, as if refusing to acknowledge Kotomine's existence.

Shirou sighed. "Alright, I'll do that. Thanks for your help, even if you didn't do much."

Kotomine's lips curled down. "Such ungratefulness..." he said, walking away to the same gate he had entered. His imposing frame was now gone from the Emiya residence.

But Shirou knew they would meet again, and surprisingly, the idea didn't bother him as much as it should've.

"Finally, those two are gone. By the gods, it's like I took a dip into Tiamat's mud..." muttered Gil, and then looked at Shirou with a brighter face. "Goodnight, onii-san!"

As usual, the strange kid seemed to talk in an entirely different language, but Shirou resolved to roll with it for now. "Goodnight, Gil," he said, and the kid's name felt strange in his lips - too informal for how little Shirou knew him. "Thanks for the help. That guy..." Rot. Decay. Corruption. "He was strong. Even if me and Kotomine fight together, I don't like our chances."

"Correct. You are no match for him yet, onii-san."

"How did you know he was here? And got here so fast?"

Gil waved his hand. "Oh, I was close around the whole time."

Silence reigned. Shirou's hand started making wringing motions of its own volition. "You what?"

"I was here the whole time," he stated, as if reciting the obvious. "If you want to put out a fire, then it's only common sense to start before it grows too large to control."

Shirou gritted his teeth. "So you could have stopped him before we fought..."

Gil looked at him with eyes full of pity. "You can't be a hero without proper dramatic timing, onii-san. It seems I have much to teach you still."

Never in life Shirou would've guessed that one of his dearest wishes would be to wring the neck of a child.

Gil smiled at him. "So, walk with me?" he asked, turning towards the gate.

"Do I have a choice?"

"'Course you do!" he chirped, walking away with slow, measured steps and not looking back.

Shirou sighed and followed suit after a few seconds of deliberation.

Zouken had called him King of Heroes, and other terms Shirou didn't recognize were casually thrown around. Something was going on in Fuyuki, something important, and he had to get to the bottom of it.

Sakura, and maybe Shinji, might get involved in whatever mess was going on. And...

He looked at the back of the child that wasn't a child, whom not long ago had radiated power beyond Shirou's wildest dreams.

Who was Gil, really?

'A lot is happening' he mused quietly to himself. Events were piling upon each other, and he had business to deal with in two entirely different, but dangerous, worlds.

His goals in Yharnam were set, but now that Zouken had shown up, he couldn't let Sakura – and Shinji – live with a monster like him.

Thoughts about abandoning Fuyuki and dedicating his life to fixing Yharnam had to wait. A Hero of Justice had to save everyone, no matter how much effort he had to spend.

Even though he was a failure who hadn't been able to save those close to him, he had to keep moving forward.

It was the only way he knew how to live.

* * *

Theere we go. I loved writing this chapter, despite being the mess it is. You probably couldn't tell due to the fact that I write edgy fanfiction but I'm a pretty cheerful guy, so writing something other than the usual doom and gloom from the last chapters was a nice change of pace.

Hope you guys liked it and, as always, please do give feedback. It's the lifeblood of any aspiring author.


	13. Chapter 11

**Alright. I don't know how does this keep happening. This chapter grew a mind of its own too and bloated out of the outline. Again!**

**Goddammit, why can't I stop myself?**

**Anyway, I thought it over and decided: why the hell not? I had time today, so I beat my former record. 5k words on a single day. Daaamn. Hope you guys like it; it'll clear up some misunderstandings that sprouted from the last few.**

**Spoiler alert: it starts really light, then goes dark, then pitch-black, then dark again, then light-ish. Holy rollercoaster of emotions, Batman.**

* * *

**Chapter 11**

Shirou walked Fuyuki's empty streets, lit by the rows of lampposts. In front of him, Gil walked with a spring in his step, humming a song on the way.

He hastened his pace, and walked beside the child. "Where are we going?"

"You'll see," said Gil.

Shirou groaned. Gil made to turn a corner, and he followed.

And right in front of them, a couple stood; a boy and a girl dressed like they had just come from a party. They took one look at him and froze in their tracks, eyes wide and fearful.

Shirou looked down and barely restrained himself from slapping his forehead. He was still in his garb. His bloodied, torn garb. "Huh...". He looked at Gil, who was watching them with tranquil eyes.

'Why isn't he saying anything? Help me dammit,' he thought with urgency. Shirou stared at the child beside him, trying to convey his thoughts. Gil shot him a thumbs-up.

"I'm a really dedicated cosplayer," blurted out Shirou.

"He really is!" chirped Gil.

The tension seemed to leave their bodies in a woosh at Gil's words. Shirou's hands shook with anger. How could a child be this convincing and why didn't he do it sooner?

The boy's eyes lit up. "Cool. Is that, like, fake blood?"

A vein throbbed in Shirou's forehead. "Yes."

"Dude! It looks so real."

"It's a serious hobby."

Shirou stood his ground at the onslaught of questions. He didn't bother trying to hide his relief when they left.

"I didn't know you liked that stuff," he heard the girl say from afar.

"I don't, but it was so real! He even smelled weird, like the fake blood was actual blood!"

Shirou steamed. Even so, he took a whiff from his garb and his nose immediately crinkled. The putrid smell that hung on Yharnam's had, as always, infected his clothes. He had gotten so used to it that it didn't bother him until he remembered to check.

"It does look very real, onii-san," said Gil with a supportive smile.

Shirou released a deep-seated sigh.

Gil regarded him with curious eyes. "What is it?"

"I just realized my clothes stopped mending and cleaning themselves. I'm gonna have to wash them when I get back home."

And he would go to the hunt smelling like vanilla and lavender. With any luck, the beasts would be allergic and he would have a new advantage over them.

Gil's face brightened even further. "You'll be the best-smelling hunter out there. I'm sure that with your attitude and that you'll be able to attract many fair maidens." He tsked. "I wish I could say the same. Women of this era are so outspoken yet so prudish..."

'Don't ask. Don't ask. Don't ask.'

Shirou massaged his temples. "Where are we going?" he asked again.

"We're going to take a peek at the past. You'll have a history lesson with a king – pretty exciting, right?"

"Will the excitement involve more evil magi and stories I don't want to hear?"

"'Course not." He wilted. "...probably. Fear not, I'll be your bodyguard if anything happens!"

"Yeah, I'll use you as a shield in that case."

Gil chuckled. "I've never been used as a shield, but my subjects would've thrown themselves in front of Ishtar's arrows for me if I ordered them to. That should be a novel experience!" Gil slid his hands in his pockets. "You'll find my stories pretty interesting, I think. We'll dive into the origins of a scar upon this world – the tissue that connects Earth to the place you know as Yharnam."

Shirou stood straighter. It was the kind of information to kill for if he wanted to solve the mysteries of Yharnam.

"I never saw anything like what you're saying." He thought back at the meeting with the old magus. "Does Zouken know about Yharnam? He said something about Yharnam being connected to our world." Shirou's forehead creased. "And something about a person called Caster."

It was surprising how much he remembered. Zouken's raspy and decrepit voice had a way of burning itself in one's mind.

"All in due time, but yes. Matou Zouken was involved in the events I'll tell you about – more as a spectator than anything else, but he had his role. Thankfully, he didn't have contact with the remnants of Yharnam. That would've given us a lot of trouble to sort out."

"Could he send people there?" Shirou had no idea what was within an experienced magus' capabilities. Not for the first time, he cursed his inexperience. He needed a teacher; someone that could teach him everything Kiritsugu didn't have the time to. His new opponents would demand nothing less.

He clenched his fist as if wrapping his hand around a weapon. At any given moment, with an image and a push of mana he could summon one. It went against everything Kiritsugu had taught him about projection. In his words, Shirou's talent for it was a 'useless ability'.

The Blades of Mercy filled his mind, the image thrumming with power and almost as real as the original one.

It was anything but useless.

Gil shook his head. "No, his skills lay elsewhere. To be honest, even I know little about how you travelers are chosen. I interacted with creatures from Yharnam, but it wasn't worth sacrificing who I am to know more. On that, my older self and I can finally agree on something."

The constant references to his older self were beginning to nag in Shirou's mind. It was hard to believe that a child could wield so much strength. He quested a look at Gil, who brimmed with power and presence that put anyone on Yharnam to shame. Was the form in front of him a disguise?

His thoughts were interrupted by the young voice. "Why do you ask? Do you want to bring someone else to Yharnam?"

"NO!" shouted Shirou, and the child looked at him with amused eyes that deflated his outburst. He rubbed his neck. "No one else should go to Yharnam. I met his granddaughter on Yharnam, is all."

Silence met his answer. Gil's eyebrows scrunched together and he hummed in a low tune. "Yes, of all people..." He shook his head. "Fate can be a cruel mistress sometimes. And what do you want to do about it?"

"I'll save her from him," he stated. It was a self-evident truth the moment he laid eyes on Zouken. "I've seen who that guy reallu is. I can't let her and Shinji be anywhere near that man." He had been to Shinji's house many times when he was young, and never noticed anything amiss.

Ignorance could be blissful, sometimes.

"It's very noble of you. I didn't expect anything less." His jaw tensed, as if resisting what he was about to say. "But, as you are now, you'll be inviting disaster upon all of us if you challenge Matou Zouken head-on."

"...what?"

"Tell me, what did you see when you gazed upon Matou Zouken's form?"

"Evil." It was a heavy word, especially after what he'd seen on Yharnam. Even the beasts themselves were people who had lost themselves to sickness. So had Zouken, but his had festered and consumed him until all that remained was a twisted husk of a human being. Malice dripped from his pores, and he delighted in it. "He's old. Defective, rotting."

Gil nodded. "He's all of those things. What you saw is the result of five hundred years of obsession. A man who abused of magecraft to extend his life beyond the natural limits of the soul. He went farther and beyond most magi ever reach, but the price was exactly that." Gil sighed. "And it all started with a simple, innocent wish..."

Shirou's voice rose. "And you want me to leave them with that monster? Like hell! And if he wants a fight with me, then I'll give him one."

Unlike beasts, he would fight a man who had brought his sickness upon himself and reveled in the monster he was.

Kotomine had been right. A hero of justice couldn't ignore someone like Zouken being around.

"I'm not saying that. It's the blood flowing through your veins that is the issue." Gil rose a finger in a lecturing manner. "His magecraft is one that steals. He robs victims of their life forces to bolster his own. After everything you went through, I think you can guess what is the most effective medium to transmit magical energy is."

There was power in blood – in the life-force that suffused it. The changes in his circuits – thrumming with power and greater reserves – made more sense now. When the man in a blindfold had made the transfusion, and every time Shirou spilled the blood of beasts upon himself, he had been enhancing his powers. The Doll had only made it quicker.

"It's blood, right?" he said, finally.

Zouken used it not to empower himself, but to buy time for whatever plot he had in mind. Even so, were their situations so different?

"Yes. Now, do you think the frayed, fragile thing that is Matou Zouken's soul could withstand that blood of yours? The cravings and bloodlust caused by it?"

Shirou's lips pressed in a thin line. "He would get stronger. So what? I will too. I just need a little more time." All he had to do was to kill a few beasts, as Gherman had put it. They would be free from the Scourge. It would be mercy...

So why did his insides churn and he felt like he was every bit as disgusting as Zouken?

"No. The moment he consumed enough of your blood, he would lose himself to its curse. Unlike the humans from Yharnam, though, his body is made of a network of worm familiars that meld into a human form. Without a strong ego to sustain it as a cohesive whole, they would turn on anyone they could find and consume them. A plague would be unleashed, and not finding blood like yours would only make them more frenzied." Gil looked to his feet. "It would be a disaster."

A sky filled with deformed insects, unnatural teeth clacking in hunger. Worms writhing on the ground and crawling onto walls and people. Voraciously lunging at their victims and biting into their flesh. Consuming buildings, streets and the entire city.

Rot. Decay. Corruption.

"No..." he whispered. It was a weak denial, hollow and without basis. He could see it happening because he had seen the kind of monster he was dealing with.

But Sakura and Shinji. He had to save them. He couldn't compromise, not this time. Two lives against countless ones.

_'What you want is to save everyone,' Kiritsugu had said, a long time ago._

A jolt ran through him. "My leg!" Shirou's hands clenched around his uncovered shin. It was still grazed from the ravenous bites of the worms. "He might have gotten some of my blood!"

"That much isn't enough to turn him. You needed a transfusion to acquire the...blessings of that blood. A few drops wouldn't do, though he might be feeling a little hungrier and crueler than usual."

It clicked in Shirou's mind. He looked at the boy the way he would look at a beast. "You let him do it."

Gil looked back, unmoving as a mountain. "I did, only to show you how serious this situation is. All he needed was one second to shred your defenses. It's as I said before - you're no match for him yet, onii-san, and right now you have the worst compatibility possible with him. Your blood could turn him into a nearly unstoppable plague and you don't have any means to deliver a final blow. He's very hard to kill, and your tools aren't enough."

Shirou's nails bit into his palms' flesh and his body tensed painfully, as if punishing itself. 'Am I not good enough again?' Would someone lose their family again and he wouldn't be able to do a thing? Would he have to kill a friend again; grant them the twisted, single form of mercy he was capable to give?

Pressure began to build in his mind, as if it was an overheated engine about to melt. If only he could get rid of this weight, of the memories that were shackling him and the guilt for his sins -

**Embrace it. Embrace it. Embrace it.**

He buried the insidious voice under a mind of steel. 'No. Go away.' The comforting allure of the Beast's Embrace subsided, and the pain was back, carrying the weight of his failures. He would keep going forward, no matter how painful it became.

That had been his promise to himself.

Gil gazed at him with eyes charged with wisdom. "Etch this into your mind. You shouldn't fight Matou Zouken unless you are absolutely sure you will win."

Shirou nodded, teeth gritted. "Understood, but I won't leave Shinji and Sakura to him." He swallowed the bitter taste in his mouth. "Can you help me?"

A true hero of justice wouldn't have needed to risk someone else's life alongside theirs. He was as far away as ever from his goal.

The child that wasn't a child looked down. "I knew you'd ask that. Unfortunately, I don't have a reason you will understand, but it isn't my place to interfere any further than I am now."

Despite himself, he had expected that answer. If Gil had wanted to do something, he already would have. Even so, his blood boiled. "Why?"

"I'm a ghost from the past. Even if I have a body, I shouldn't interfere in the affairs of humanity. It isn't my place to do so – my time is long gone."

"Then what have you been doing so far?" snapped Shirou.

That terrifying power Gil had shown on a whim. If Shirou were that strong, then he could have saved everyone and been the hero of justice he pictured in his mind. His ideal self. Arabella wouldn't have been an orphan and Yharnam wouldn't be the cursed land as it had always been. Even after he arrived - especially after he arrived.

"Sorry, onii-san. This time I can't help you. Maybe you'll understand someday." Gil's lips curled down. "Even defective worms such as Zouken have a purpose in the great scheme of things sometimes."

Shirou clenched his jaw. There was nothing he could do to convince Gil, he knew. However... "Kotomine. What about him? Would he help me?" As a priest, he should be against everything that Zouken was, and he had been willing to fight earlier.

"Normally, no. It's been a long time since Kirei had any interest in the battlefield, but you might be able to convince him. He hates everything Zouken is, which could work in your favor." He hummed. "You and Kirei are eerily similar, but I much prefer the conclusion you reached. In the future I find him a hidden gem in an ocean of mediocrity; right now he's just annoying and sad."

Shirou didn't budge from the change of subject. "Can he kill Zouken?"

"He was about to try. His odds are much higher than yours, for what's worth. An alliance between you would be closer to victory than each of you by yourselves."

Shirou nodded. That much he had seen with his own eyes. "Kotomine doesn't know about Yharnam," he half-stated, half-asked.

"He doesn't. Not the specifics, anyway, but he has had contact with leftovers."

"Leftovers?" Shirou shook his head. He could ask about it later. "Would he report me to the Church?"

"So long as you keep him entertained, I doubt it."

"Entertained?"

"He only finds joy through others." Gil's eyes scrunched shut in aggrievement. "He'll consider your journey very interesting, so you'll have to put up with his less admirable traits. That's the price for his help."

He mulled over his interactions with the priest. The man's smiles were hollow and his eyes were empty. Glassy and at odds with his focused and oppressive presence. There was something familiar, almost machine-like about him.

But sometimes they glinted, as if life had been breathed in him. Shirou forced the gears in his mind to turn. Those moments coincided with when Kotomine had taunted and riled him up.

Did that guy get his kicks from seeing people in trouble? What kind of priest was that? 'Guess I can't be picky with my allies this time.'

Allies...

A jolt coursed through him and he patted his garb. Within it there was the Summoning Bell. The most powerful tool the Dream had given him.

'Can I summon them to Fuyuki?' The resentment for needing help remained. He was tired of needing to have his hand held all the time. Even so, when it came to the lives of Sakura and Shinji, he would bear with it.

He needed someone to summon first. A hunter, someone strong enough to protect themselves...

The two of them walked in silence as he mused his newfound possibilities. The streets weren't empty anymore. Cars began to fill the streets and some early risers and were up and about, launching at him worried looks. Leaving his house in torn and bloodied clothes like this hadn't been his best idea, it seemed.

Shirou looked at Gil. "Thanks for the help tonight, but you don't need to save me again. I'll do things myself from now on."

Gil huffed. "Please don't be like that. I'm also interested in your journey. I want to see you grow, so I'd never coddle you or try to keep you from doing something. In the times we met, I was doing preventing you from losing to things you couldn't possibly have been prepared for. That would be unfair; your hard work should be rewarded; more than you realize."

Shirou frowned. "Is that what you've been doing?"

"That's right. So far, I've been only culling bad ends. As I said, it'd be unfair if your tale ended in such an early stage because of outside factors. Your victories are your own, as are your defeats." At that, he looked at Shirou with kind, empathetic eyes. "Life there hasn't been kind to you, has it?"

"I'm far from the worst," he said in finality.

"Okay." Gil nodded. "We are here."

Shirou looked around at well-trimmed bushes and trees spread everywhere around him. Torii gates stood stark around benches and race tracks circled around him. The Fuyuki bridge loomed to his right.

"The Riverside Park?" he asked.

"It may not look like it, but this was the site of a very intense battle. Heroes from different times and places assembled to hunt an abomination from another world. One you know very well." Gil walked towards the rails that separated the park from the river.

Shirou's gaze zeroed on the water. Crystalline and dark with the night, but the longer he looked...

A faint sensation of prickling penetrated the insides of his eyes. An ethereal glow sloshed along the water. It was fog-like, and the moon's light made it shine eerily as the river swayed back and forth. "Something is wrong with the water," he said.

"You can already see it?" Gil asked. His features looked troubled. "Yes, the water is a gate of sorts. It's the scar I told you about. There shouldn't be leftovers, but the creature summoned was very powerful." His lips curled down. "Its death throes left a lasting impression. The gate was inactive until something happened on the other side. The creature cursed the world from beyond the grave." He looked at it mournfully. "And the one who delivered the final blow in our war got dragged in this mess too."

Gil stared at it as if trying to divine some truth out of it. He closed his eyes and shook his head a few moments later.

"Where does it lead to?"

"A nightmare. The punishment for those the creature felt wronged it. Them and their children, until the end of times."

Shirou gripped the rails tighter, and a faint creaking sound filled the air. "Something in Yharnam can do that?"

"I don't think so. It was a creature of dreams. It was temporarily bound to the physical plane of our world, but it isn't its natural habitat."

Dreams, curses, a portal right in Fuyuki...

His mind felt like a rubber band, stretched thinner and thinner. Nothing seemed real anymore. "If someone falls on the water, will they get dragged there?" he asked.

"No, no one can't get there without being summoned or knowing where to look like you. The gate itself isn't the problem. The real issue is that it marked this world as a place of interest for beings that shouldn't be close to humanity. They can't intervene without activating our defenses," he said, now watching the dark sky, "but they have other, more insidious means of influencing things. They have agendas of their own, after all."

"I didn't know beasts could do that," said Shirou, contemplative.

"No, but their polar opposite can. You'll meet those beings sooner or later. For now, let's say that humanity's nature and theirs are incompatible. Mixing them together will cause nothing but disaster, as it has happened on Yharnam." Gil shrugged. "I don't know as much of them as I'd like, but I can tell you all about the war that brought them here."

"Zouken said something about a war, too." It was finally the time he could rectify his ignorance on many things. "What is a Servant?"

Gil gripped the rails and propped himself up. He sat on the steely bar and his legs dangled in the air. "Ghosts from the past, like me. People whose deeds reverberated in the tapestry of human history. Their history and legend are recorded for posteriority in a place named Throne of Heroes. Servants are fragments of those legends brought from the Throne and given form. They're the strongest familiars a magus could summon, and used for a war in Fuyuki."

"You're saying you're a hero from the past?" asked Shirou, tone infused with skepticism.

Gil beamed. "I'm glad you asked! Yes, I am the first to ascend to the throne; the one who would carve the very definition of what it means to be a hero. I am the King who has amassed every treasure worth having and has tasted all the pleasures of the world! Rejoice, Emiya Shirou, for you are in the presence of Gilgamesh, King of Heroes!"

Shirou looked at him with wide eyes.

Gil puffed his chest out. "Yes, I can see the surprise in your face. Indeed onii-san, you've been mentored by the King of Heroes himself! Hohohoho!"

Shirou got out of his stupor. "Yeah, that would explain why you're so strong. It's just..." Shirou scratched his cheek. "I've never heard of you."

The child's entire composure cracked. Shirou reacted quickly when his body went flaccid with shock, grabbing Gil under his shoulders before he could fall on the water.

Gil offered him a brittle smile as he rearranged himself on his impromptu seat. "Thank you. It's no problem that you don't know me, humanity grew and moved forward, as I always knew it would. I don't mind that my legend has slipped from recorded history." He mumbled something under his breath.

Shirou thought it sounded a lot like 'modernity was a mistake'.

He cleared his throat. "So, there were more of you fighting. What for?"

Gil's eyes regained clarity. "Yes, seven of us, fighting for the same artifact that summoned us in the first place. The Holy Grail."

Shirou frowned. "The christian cup? From King Arthur's history?"

"No, a very different one, crafted by magi of this era. It's what allowed them to do something as absurd as summoning Heroic and binding them as familiars. But its purpose was to work as a wishing device. With enough magical energy and a clear wish in mind, the Grail could make any wish true."

'Any wish?' He could see why magi would gather and risk their lives for it. It was an easy way to achieve their goals. All they had to do was win a short war and they would have what they wanted most for the rest of their lives. He could understand the appeal.

But not for himself. His wish wasn't one that could be given.

"And Servants as strong as you fought in Fuyuki?" he asked.

Gil waved his hand in denial. "Well, none of them was nearly as powerful as me, but we did fight. Unfortunately, one summoned these creatures we talked about. Kirei and the Church had their hands full with the covering up afterward."

'Even the Church was into that mess, huh?' Zouken's words returned to him as he thought it over. "The Caster guy."

"Yes. He didn't do much actual damage, but more than a few citizens had a clear view of the monsters." Gil's disposition seemed to sag. "It did irreparable damage to them. You magi have an interesting theory that applies here. Incorporating information is the very basis of magecraft. Therefore, vision is the first spell in human history. None of them could've looked at it without being changed, because they were grasping a completely alien truth." His lips curled into a smile just shy of vicious. "At least we made sure to give them a proper welcome party."

Shirou remembered that feeling. Something inside his head lurching, digging into it and setting his neurons on fire. His eyes had burned and prickled at the sight of new, monstrous things in Yharnam. And lately, his body had started reacting too, flesh squirming as if trying to become something else. If the monster was even stronger than those, then...

Shirou whispered. "Were they cured?"

Gil's expression was sober. "They were freed from their misery."

_"Would he rather live as a beast or die as a man?" asked the Crow._

'Mercy...' Shirou steeled himself. "Then it's settled. When will the next war happen?"

"Soon. Sooner than I'd like." Gil sized him up. "You're thinking something dangerous, aren't you, onii-san?"

"I want nothing to do with a war that will put everyone in danger." His hands closed into fists. "But the Grail is really powerful, right? I don't have a wish for myself, but I could use it to cure everyone in Yharnam of the Scourge. I can't do it myself; I'm not even that good of a magus." He looked at Gil with determination. "But I can fight."

Gil jumped from the rails and clasped his hands behind his back. "I know you can, but the war is awfully dangerous. Maybe you should explore different possibilities first?"

"You know of any other solution?"

Gil went silent, then looked away. "Divine intervention."

"I'm fresh out of gods to help me, if you didn't notice."

The child didn't seem satisfied with his answer, but said nothing else. The sun began rising from behind the hills, its warmth creeping on his face. The skies grew clearer with breathtaking light.

He had never seen one of those in Yharnam.

"Well, this has been a productive night, if nothing else. Do you have any other question, onii-san?" He yawned, stretching his arms up. "I'd like to get some sleep now."

Shirou thought it over. "Just one."

"What is it?"

"Why are you helping me?"

Gil hummed. "I have my reasons..." He rose his hands in surrender at Shirou's glare. "It's nothing shady, I promise!"

"Please tell me, if only for my peace of mind. You are pretty shady for a kid."

"Alright, but just because you asked nicely! It's a one time thing so pay attention!" Gil looked at the rising sun with a grin. "I'm from a very different time. The world was also very different; more dangerous and with much less machines and people. Life was hard, and not because we didn't have the comforts modern people have. Gods, monsters; all the kinds of dangers prowled my garden and threatened humanity. It always seemed to be a hair away from going extinct."

His eyes shone with a light of their own. "But it didn't! It endured every hardship and overthroned the Gods from their primacy. The world itself changed to suit humanity's laws and understanding. I dreamed of a day when you would overcome the need for heroes and venture into the sea of stars, outgrowing even this planet! No species had ever come close to your sheer potential." He shrugged. "You lost your way a bit in the last few centuries, but I'm sure you'll get back on track sooner or later!"

Gil's hummed in displeasure. "Yharnam didn't have the same destiny. Humanity is a plaything and a victim to outside powers and grows ever sicker because of it. Yharnam isn't my garden, but it still leaves a bad taste in my mouth to see a humanity so utterly defeated. They need heroes."

He continued. "I want them to be saved and flourish like my subjects did. And for that, a hero that symbolizes the best in humanity feels like the rightest way to do it. Someone who will beat the odds with ingenuity and boundless determination. Who will endure every challenge and grow with them. Someone that, when the time comes to face the Nightmares that world has to offer, will cling to their humanity desperately, absurdly, and defeat them. That person, with the weight of all their accomplishments behind them, will calim back the world to its rightful owners."

Gil beamed at him. "That's all there is to it, onii-san. I want a human victory."

And with that said, he skipped away, going back to wherever place he came from. Shirou watched him go, dumbfounded.

"...is that what it means to be a hero of justice?" he asked himself.

Kiritsugu had never told him what it meant to be a hero of justice, and Yharnam only taught him to hunt. To hunt those who threatened others and those too sick to know better until the city was safer. All he knew was that he wanted to help others. Was Gil's way the right one to do it?

What Gil said about the Fuyuki victims came to his mind. "They became what they saw, huh."

Could someone who saw nothing but slaughter and bloodshed become the hero that Gil talked about?

Shirou set out to his house, thoughts once again thrown into disarray.

Answers remained elusive during the night.

* * *

**I loved writing this chapter because it developed further a conflict I'd been looking forward to. The Nasuverse hero x Bloodborne hero.**

**Ultimately, those series have different outlooks. Gil represented the Nasuverse, while Gherman will be Shirou's mentor from Yharnam. They'll offer Shirou very different outlooks, and he'll have to decide on the kind of person he wants to be.**

**Can a Nasuverse hero exist on Yharnam? That's the question Shirou is asking himself now.**

**Would that hero be what Yharnam needs? (heh) Would it be who he wants to be?**

**Interesting stuff. Hope you guys enjoyed it too.**


	14. Chapter 12

**Phew. It's been a while, huh guys? RL has been kicking me in the balls so it was hard to put in the effort to write. Hope you didn't forget everything by now lol.**

**This chapter suffers from a severe mood disorder, but I think you'll like it anyway.**

**Here goes.**

* * *

**Chapter 12**

Months of intense fighting had honed his reflexes to limits he hadn't thought possible for him. As such, he watched the blow coming, descending to his forehead like an executioner's blade. He did that with detachment and a slight hint of resignation. It was best to man up and accept his punishment so his sin counter could return to zero.

Then, the wild tiger could go back to laze about and leeching off other people's food.

The blow connected with a resounding crack and his brain bounced in his skull a little. Somehow, it was more emotionally painful than a cleaver intent on detaching his scalp from the rest of his head.

And this was happening in his own room. When had he lost the authority in his territory?

"Ouch," droned Shirou.

Fuji-nee shook a fist trembling with righteous anger. She rose to her full height, her green dress fluttering with the motion. "What kind of lackluster reaction was that? That should've been enough to make even your ancestors feel the weight of your shame!"

"I'll do you one better. Why the hell did you hit me?"

She jutted her chin up with a grin. "I was checking your temperature while punishing you for staying out late! Clever, eh?"

"It's clever in the same way a monkey is clever by bashing stones together to make a tool."

"Oh, I see, I see. It is backtalk, then." She snatched a thermometer from her pocket and wagged her eyebrows. "We can do a more thorough check then. You know the only place that we can be one hundred percent sure you have a fever is-"

"Say another word and you're banned from dinner for a lifetime."

Her hands flew to her chest as if she had been shot. "S-surely you wouldn't?"

"I would. I'm cruel like that."

Her confident disposition wilted and she cried about the unfairness of it all.

'The power dynamics in this are all messed up.' Shirou shot a fond look at his surrogate sister when she turned her back to him mid-rant. 'I missed this.'

He pushed himself off from his futon, sheets sliding to the floor as he rose. "Come on, your ban is lifted. I'll cook us breakfast and you sit there and wait patiently." Like a domesticated tiger he wanted to say, but he wouldn't try his luck with that one.

"You said you were thinking about it! Why is there a ban to be lifted?" she cried.

"That was me thinking about it."

Shirou made to give another step but stopped, resigned. Deceptively strong arms pushed back and forced him back to his futon. It seemed he would be in house arrest for a while. Unlike his shed, though, there was very little in his room beside the bare essentials to live.

"Nonononono, no working or doing chores for you today! Sick people should stay put and rest." She puffed her chest out and her arms sat on her waist. "Your Fuji-nee will do the cooking today."

Echoes of burnt rice and undercooked fish danced in his tongue and he shivered. "I'm already sick. Why do you want to torture me too?"

"My cooking isn't punishment," She steepled her fingers. "Or is it..." She gave a rumbling, malicious laugh.

'What did I do to deserve this?' Shirou breathed, steeling his palate for a losing battle. "Alright then. Please go with something simple."

She twirled on her heel. "Yup yup, will do." She walked to his room's door with a spring in her step, but her hand stopped short of the handle. "Hey Shirou," she said, head tilting back "Is everything okay?"

He had known for some time that she had noticed; so had his friends and anyone that knew him. He wasn't good at lying and him deceiving anyone outside of a fight was laughable. "Not much. I have a lot in my mind lately, is all."

She licked her lips. "Are you having nightmares again?"

Ever since he was kid, the fire would invade and haunt his dreams as often as he went to sleep. Back then, she could always tell when he had a nightmare. He hadn't; not this time, but Yharnam was its own kind of bad dream.

The very real kind.

"Yeah, but don't worry, I'll be fine."

"Are you sure? I know you quit the Archery Club," Her head dipped down, and a pang of self-hatred made his chest hurt. "And you were doing so well, too. And what about that part-time job you wanted?" She trailed off.

He rubbed his neck and looked anywhere but her. "Shinji and Mitsuzuri can handle the club, and it's not like I need the money now."

"I'm not worried about the club, dummy. Or the money." She sniffed. "You can borrow from me if you want."

'She shouldn't sound so regretful she said that,' thought Shirou. "Yeah, I know. I'll be fine Fuji-nee, promise."

He gave her a tentative smile and that seemed enough to cheer her up. It was never hard to get a smile out of Fuji-nee.

"Okay, but no more staying out late! I'm laying down the law as this house's elder!" She punctuated it by stomping her foot on the floor.

"You're twenty-four."

She giggled maniacally. "And taller than you!" She ran out of the door, like a child bolting out before any opposition could offer a counter-argument.

...that one had actually hurt him. Fuji-nee knew him too well.

With a sigh, Shirou flipped off his mental switch and closed his magic circuits. The heat spreading throughout his body subsided. The epiphany of using his tools to enact wonders of magic to fake a fever and call in a sick day had hit him on the way back. Not the most extraordinary use of his powers, but it was helpful.

Shirou sighed, plopping his back on the futon. There was much to think and even more that he was unsure about, but these facts alone were undeniable. He needed weapons. Weapons that would allow him to stand up against Yharnamm and ones that could end the life of an immortal parasite like Matou Zouken.

For that, he needed the Dream's resources. He would have to talk to Gherman to see if it had even more in stock.

Shirou pressed his temples, his palm covering his face as thoughts came and went. None of that had any certainty to it. Under no circumstances Matou Zouken could take the old blood for himself. If the summons were copies of the originals, they'd have the old blood in their veins too. His best option was still Kotomine, whom he knew for sure had a way to kill Zouken.

He grumbled. "Of all people."

Kotomine rubbed him the wrong way. His smug disposition and dark eyes that peered straight into his innermost thoughts unnerved Shirou. Yet, he couldn't shake off that there was something familiar about him. Something he could understand.

Shirou rolled in his futon. "What the hell am I thinking?"

His situation was dire if he was looking for empathy in Kotomine.

When Fuji-nee burst back into the room, plate in hand and a glint in her eyes, Shirou endured the rice that was somehow half-uncooked and half badly-burnt. It was crowned with grated yams covered in an unholy amalgamation of three – possibly four – different sauces. Fuji-nee watched him like a sadistic jailor, who threw crumbs of food down and watched his starved prisoner eat them off the floor.

He wasn't sure if the sauce situation was on purpose or not, which made it worse.

No amount of water and brushing his teeth would get the taste of this abomination of cookery off his mouth. Only time would wear it down.

When she left for work, leaving him with both threats and get-well wishes, Shirou went to his shed. Along the line, his spirits grew little higher from interacting with her. He smiled to himself.

Uncaring of it, the lantern waited for him, gleaming a soft white. He knelt and let it whisk him away to another world, one without Fuji-nee, his friends and the comforts of his old life.  


* * *

The chilly and crisp air of the Dream greeted him in its cold embrace. So did the loud groaning of the Messengers. The Doll stood tall, watching him with her hands intertwined in front of her.

"Ahh, welcome home, Good Hunter," she said.

Shirou lips curled up in an attempt to smile. "Thank you, huh, Doll."

Her wrought features and eery tranquility made him shift on his feet. He wasn't sure she needed breathing, as every now and then she would go for entire minutes without pulling air in. "What is it that you desire?"

"I needed to speak to Gherman, actually. Is he here?"

"Gherman is upstairs."

Her short answer made his cheeks flush. There wasn't much room to look for him, unless Gherman had a sudden and unexplainable urge to play hide-and-seek and huddle behind tombstones.

"Good to know. Thanks Doll."

"You're welcome, Good Hunter."

Yet, his feet remained glued on the cobblestone floor, staring at her, transfixed. Her peaceful eyes regarded him serenely, fanning the flames of his embarrassment.

He pointed a thumb at the house upstairs. "I'll go now."

She gave a small bow. "As you wish."

Shirou walked away, fighting off the urge to punch himself. 'What was that?' The Doll made him uneasy with nothing but her presence.

From inside the house, Gherman's voice resounded. "Oh, so you have returned, Good Hunter. How has your truth-seeking journey been treating you?" he asked.

Shirou huffed. "It's more like the clues are finding me than the other way around."

Kotomine, with his ominous words and Gil with his impossible knowledge. It was taking less legwork and investigation and more hanging on to his dear life. Hang on as everything tried to murder him until someone took pity on him and explained things.

"I see, I see. Good to know. Even so, don't forget to hunt some beasts along the way. It'll be for your own good."

Those words rebirthed the ugly sensations that spread across his chest. The pleasant interactions of the last few hours drifted away like a distant dream.

"You don't have to tell me that." Shirou looked down. "But I'm not doing it for strength. Maybe you don't know, but Yharnam is a mess. There are more beasts than people out there now, and treating them as sacrifices is wrong. "

"Is that so? And why else are you doing it, then?" Gherman appraised him. The careful intonation of his words made Shirou feel he was being played.

Shirou's jaw clenched tight before he answered. "Mercy. It's all I can give as I am now." He looked at Gherman straight in the eyes. "I'll find a way to help them, but I can't ignore what's going on now."

Gherman stared at him, old and beady eyes now evaluating him with startling intensity. His shoulders coiled and his hands clenched the fabric of his pants. "Mercy, you say? An interesting point of view. May I ask why have you reached such a conclusion?"

"I didn't; not by myself." Images and sensations tried to escape their prison, the one he had built around them for the sake of his sanity. The bars held against their onslaught. "I had to kill someone. Someone important. I couldn't save him, so all I could do was give him peace."

It was all he remembered about the friend for whom he had dug a grave. One for him, one for his wife. Two monuments to his failure.

Gherman released a shuddering sigh – it had a pained inflection to it, as if the very act of breathing hurt him. "Come with me, good hunter." The wheels creaked as Gherman wheeled around and entered deeper into the house. Shirou followed.

It was the first time Shirou took a good look inside. Old, dusty carpets tried and failed to cover the floor made of decrepit wood. To his right, tall piles of well-worn books were strewn about; too many to place in the bookshelf next to them. Rows of medicine, vials and other assorted materials were arranged on orderly shelves and in a dresser to the left. Flames crept and danced in the room's fireplace. They illuminated the many weapons hanging on the wall right close to it. Those immediately caught his attention.

To his left, yet more bookshelves clung to the walls. A mirror, with web-like cracks on the glass, was inclined on the wall, inches from smashing on the ground. A modest tea table, with a kettle and used teacups on it, lay dusty and unclean.

In the far end of the room stood an altar, illuminated by dozens of candles. The bright gleam of the Moon outside invaded the house through windows high-up, granting it another source of light.

Gherman's wheelchair made the rotten planks of wood creak as he passed by. He forced it around to face the shelves. Shirou held himself back from pushing the old man's wheelchair – they weren't in enough good terms for that.

"This is our storage. You may use it to stock whatever you wish to. Medicine, bullets, weapons, equipment, vests and such," he recited clinically.

Shirou nodded and Gherman took off. The fireplace gave his figure an eery glow as he rolled away. He stopped in front of the workshop, and his shoulders seemed to sag in tranquility. He surveyed the weapons fondly. A system of gears and chains suspended them in the air. Shirou admired the various designs and tools, committing them to mind.

"This," he said, livelier, "is our workshop. You may use it to fortify your weapons, repair them and infuse them with the power of Blood Gems."

Shirou tapped his garb. "I've been picking up a few along the way. Will you teach me how to do it?"

Henryk had told him about how a weapon could be reinforced to be sharper, sturdier. It was possible even to gain unnatural effects like the ability to set fire into what it hit. It was definitely something Shirou could make use of.

"I will," said Gherman. He looked to his left. "And that is the Memory Altar, but you need not concern yourself with it just yet. It lacks the proper tools to perform its functions; perhaps you will find it in the waking world."

"What does it do?"

"It's an old method to carve runes into your mind. They will be essential in the nastier bits of the Hunt."

'So they need something like that to use runes like me,' thought Shirou. He threw a sideways glance to Gherman. 'I'll keep this to myself.' Keeping secrets didn't come easy to him, but his options didn't give him leeway.

"Is that all?" asked Shirou.

"Yes, you may ask the questions you seem so eager to."

Shirou gestured to his garb. "Sometimes there's more to pick up in the hunt than I can carry. Is there a way I can transport my things to this place?"

"Oh yes, the Messengers will be willing to offer their aid. Give them a little incentive – trinkets, like hats and accessories – and you will have them in the palm of your hand."

Shirou sighed. He didn't want the worship of the little guys, but it wasn't an alternative he could ignore. He braced himself, quashing the sparks of hope that surged inside of him. "I told you I came from a different world."

Gherman hummed. "You did, indeed."

"Can phantoms be summoned from Yharnam to my world?"

The old man's eyebrows creased, deepening the stress lines on his forehead. "Unfortunately, your question is outside my area of expertise, good hunter. It may be possible, it may not; you will have to find out by yourself."

He had expected as much. "Alright. And what's the strongest weapon you have here?"

"The strongest?"

"Yeah. I need something to deal with a powerful magus back home." The designs Shirou had seen in the Workshop were all incomplete. It was doubtful that he could make something capable of killing Zouken by himself.

"I cannot say I know what a magus is, but the quality of your weapons will depend solely on you. You can fortify the ones you already have or look for new ones throughout the hunt." Gherman wheeled around, facing Shirou. "May I ask why you have enemies in that world of yours?"

Shirou's hands clenched into fists. "He has tried to kill me," he said. "I need to defend myself. And also..." Zouken's mocking laughter surged in his thoughts, and he banished it. "He might be hurting two friends of mine. I can't let them stay with that man, not after what I saw of him."

Gherman closed his eyes, as if ruminating his words. A bitter-sweet smiled blossomed on his weary face. "A noble sentiment. I knew it, from the moment I laid my eyes on you. Ah, good hunter..." Gherman hunched forward, hands wrapped around each other and looking very small. "I knew the kind of boy you are and the kind of man you will be. Good men rarely last long in the hunt, and none have walked to this Dream's end as you wish to. But fear not, I shall accompany you until your legs give out and your heart yearns for rest. You will see a beautiful sunrise, this much I can grant you."

The fragile old man said these words with a voice weathered by age and a body with its bones an inch away from crumbling. A promise of mercy for someone who was on the prime of his life, and wouldn't see and experience as many terrible things Gherman had.

Shirou's hands shook. The sight made his stomach turn, and took him back to a time where he had watched Kiritsugu waste away. He hadn't realized until it was too late.

He was being used for someone's purpose. Of that much he was still certain. Even so...

"I won't need it, old man. I will find a way to end this," he stated, with the full weight of his conviction behind it. No other outcome was acceptable.

The bitter-sweet smile didn't go away. "Then I wish you the very best of luck, good hunter." He coaxed his wheelchair away, and Shirou was left alone with his thoughts. His mind was once again made up. Even if he was being used, it didn't mean he couldn't save them as well. He bid his goodbye to the Doll, who saw him off with a curtsey. She mentioned, once again, the waking world.

'Yeah,' he thought with his eyes closed as he activated the tombstone to Yharnam. 'It is my waking world.'  


* * *

Arabella was still asleep.

Shirou watched the calm rise and fall of her chest with relief. The eerily quiet atmosphere of the chapel was good for this, if nothing else. He made a beeline to the gaunt man clad in red.

"There was no trouble, right?" he whispered..

"N-no, sir. I did as you said; the little one didn't even wake up. I swear mister hunter, I'll not harm a hair on her head," the Dweller said, shaking like a leaf.

Shirou nodded and stalked off. Threatening the man weighted on him. For all intents and purposes, he had Sakura's vouching for his character and so far, he hadn't been anything but pleasant.

He shot a look at the little girl as he passed by. He reinforced himself with mana for the fights that would come.

But he couldn't take any risks. Not this time.

Shirou walked off the center of the Chapel, and ahead lay the entrances for Cathedral Ward. He turned left and passed through the door, walking downstairs in the narrow corridor decorated with religious images.

A typical Yharnamite landscape laid in front of him. Scattered, crooked tombstones littering the floor. Trees bereft of any leaves, their branches like bare bones jutting out from the trunk. An abandoned well lingered in the center of it all, and hooded men armed with staffs patrolled the area. He breathed, and an image began forming in his mind.

Shirou took a step forward and his heart stopped. A deafening silence consumed everywhere and him.

**He couldn't breathe. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't breathe because-**

Something was watching.

Fear crept on him like a hungry beast, immobilizing him, holding him captive. He shook as his neurons fired madly and burned with an image he wasn't meant to see. Shirou looked up, at the ethereal lines that grew clearer the longer he looked. His heart's beat returned, drumming in his chest. He let out the strangled gasp of a dying animal.

**An invisible hand swooped down.**

ę̵͕̮͓̜͚̥̼̬͍̑̋y̶̢̗̘͙̲͂͜e̵̙̓̊s̴̛̻̫̤̲̀͠ ̷̡͋ȯ̴͚̞͑́̀̏͒̀͆̄̋̀́̀̚p̸̢̧̢̞̣̠͖͍͚̙͔̤̝͈̺̊̾͑ě̷̝̣̼͉̲͉͎̗̀̓͊̓̓̽̿̋̌̏̃͠͝ͅͅn̵̟̗̥̈̏̾́̾̅̑͋̕ ̸̢̣̳̄́̓̃̓̒̀̾̕̚͝͝y̸̧̡͈̟͙̹̺̞̗͓͇͐ͅǫ̷͙͔͙̲̱̘͌̀̈́̈́́͆̏̅̑͐u̷̥̫̦̠͓̮͇̲͐̄͌͒̑̉r̷̛͍̉͝ ̸̢̤͉̼̦̯͗̌̏̌̉̅̓ȩ̷̜̰̰̥͚̹̬̰̙̦̥̫͐͑̑͗͛̾̑̈̆̆̄̽͜͝y̵̧͙̪̟͌̓̇̔͝ͅͅẽ̷̮̭͔̱͎̭̝͉s̴̡̫̜͖̲͖̦̮̳̰̰͎͐̓ͅ ̶̖͓̈́͒͒͌̊͊͌̎̉̔̀͗̚͠ǫ̶͉̖͖͖͚͈̰̘͍̫̬̒͂̽̆̆̑͝͝͝p̴̢̪̜͍̤̂͒̈́́̓̃͗̊̋͒̄̉̂̚̚ͅḙ̷̮̤̺̞̫̻̫͆̆͜͝ͅn̴̞͕̙̭̹̩̄̈́͠ ̷̡̢̟͓̘̬͎̤̯̂͌̒̓͜t̴̡̤̤͍͎̙͖̪̹̥́̍̀̏̍̃͑̐̓̊͑ͅh̴̢̛̤̣̞͇̱̪͕̜̲͋͒̄́͐͛̄̎̉͘̚͘̚͝e̴͚͍̣̐͊́̅̂͐̿͛͋̌̚͝͠m̷̢͍̜̭̮͈̝̜͌͂͘ ̶̡̺̹̝̻͙̼͓̻̹͇̟̪͇́̍̍̅͊́ͅo̶̺̤̗͛̀͐̍͗̽̎͘͘p̸̡̨͈͉͂͋̈́͆̄̋͛͑ë̴̢̛̠̝̤͚̥̰̱̙̯͒̈́̊̌̈́̋̈͒̀̈́̅͝͝ͅň̵͔̭̗̣̇͌̄̔͊͌̑̇ ̶̱̠̄̂̀y̷̪͕̆̄̊̈́̔̇͗́̎̕̚͝͝͠ơ̵̲̻̣̭̪͍̫͎͎̼̗̈̆̂͋̓̊͑ư̶̡̮̹̈́͐̓ŗ̶̛͖͓͕͔̊̒̓̍̍̊͐́ ̸̢̞̹̮͍̮̭͒̐ͅe̷̫̣̠͆̂͌̃̏̽͝͝ͅy̵̛̞͙̰͕͎͈̻͖͙̹͔̾̔̓̔̊̈̀́͂̃̽̇̂é̸̘̜̪̻̹͎̱̭̘̭̟̊̍͒̆̐̐͌͒͊s̷̘̭̽̄͋̀̚͜͜ ̵̤͉̰̓̅͒̌́̔̓̐̋̾̒̄͜͝ỏ̷̦͉̙̗̠͉͔̣̀́͜p̸̺̄̑̇̀̂͛̀̃́͐̓̒͘̚e̸̤̻̥̫͙͓̮̦̜̔̌̄̒̈́̽͆̈́̄͛̿̌̾͝n̷̨̛͖̱͙̰͕̝̲̗͚̲̔̾̃̒̅̃̀̆̋̾͜͠ ̷̢̤͈̞̝͉͚̙̋̅̄̽̈́́͂̅͠͠o̸̙̪͊̏̈p̷̭͚̠̮̘̮̖̪͒̊͆̂̓̿̄̽e̵̩͍͌̂̔̄͑̅̔̇͌̓̆̚͝͝n̴̩̄̀́̈̅̀͌͗͊̕͝ ̷̡̨̨͇̭̫̬̼̳̮̳̣̜̩͛͌̑̓́̅̿̐̀̈́̏̌̈́̐͑t̵̨̢͇͕̜͔̤͕̘͙̪͑͌́̿̀̆͑̎ͅh̷̨͔̥̮̫͇̳̑͛͛̈e̶̛̦͚̩͍̙̙̤͕̍́̏̃̾̈́̿̈́m̵̡̰̼̜̳̝͖̥̤̲̀͒͑̂͘

Shirou ran.

'Run run run runrunrunrunrun!'

He had to get away, get away from It.

Swords skewered his temples from the inside. It didn't register. They dug into his intestines and burst out of his skin. It didn't register.

g̸̢̧̘̱͍̺͚̘̺͇̯̲̝͕̏̏͊̉̉͜͝r̵̦̦̋̈͗̓̈́̿͋̍̽͌̋̒͝ȃ̶̢̢̞͉̲͙̤͇̟̰̘̓̽̈́̿̈̈́̔̏̀̈́̀̈́͜͠n̶̡̡͙͍̮̎̽̌̍̃́̔͋̕͘ţ̸̼͍̓̉̀̍̔͗̋̽͑͆͐́̊̊̕ ̶̧̨̦͇̻͎͙̙̪̘͕͂̌̂̾̔̊͠͠ẏ̸̨̤̅̌̚͜ơ̸̛͈͈͎̯̎̓̂̎̓͊͘̚ű̵͉̰͈̫̼͐͑́͐͗̎̍́͊̊̕͜͝ͅ ̵͈͕̬͓̼̮̳̖̠̈͒̈́͛̚͝e̸̛̠͓̖͕̜͒̊́̉̆͐͛͑̐̃͛̇̑̿ý̵̤̤̆̐̄̐̀̔̃͘͝͝ȩ̶̖̜̳̯̮͚̳̅̈́͊̇̔s̵̡̢̪̝͔̠͇̹͍̳͌̀̅͛ ̴̨͎̰̳̝̙̪͖͚̗̟̹̼͊͋̊̈͌͠͝͠ͅͅg̶̤̾͂͑̽̇͠r̸͕͍̪̤͈̪̃̃̉̒̀͛̌̽̓̓̕̕â̶̡̤̠̞͕̪̦͗͛̿́͗̄̑͌̑́ņ̴̖͑̏̌͂͂̆̐̿̚ẗ̴̳̯̬̳͉̘̼͖͓̘̺̱́̑̒̾̆ ̴̡̟̤̼͈̌͜ẏ̷̢̢̛̥̝̟̗͎͎̤͑̈́̅͗̀̈́̑̑̒̚̚̕̚͜ͅͅo̷̢̧̯̤̼̖̬͙̜̹͙̭̤̘͑̾͋̿͗̐̀ǘ̸̪̻̤͕͔͍̣͕̯̰̬̫̟̦̺͌͌́͒̊̾́ ̶̡̲̬̥͖̖̪͍̠́̋̑͌̾͌͊̂̄͛͜͜͝͝ę̵͙̘̯̣̬̭̘̰̳̲͗̎́̋̇̐̋́͋̎̑̕͠y̴̥̽́̆̒̋͠͝e̸̪̠̞̟̻̳͉̖̜̟̒̀͊͌s̶͙̀̃̈̔̓̍̓̄ ̵͎̻͚̩̭̻̺̀̈́̑̎͒̍̌̊̽͠͠ė̶̝͔̦̬͖̾͒ÿ̸̛̱͕̝̠̪͓̟̲͙́͋̔̓͋͗̀̽́̎̔̚ͅȩ̸̧̨͍̭̣̞͕̬͔̗͚̺̗̗̇͑̽̽̂̀̾̀̾̐͛́s̸͍͈̪͙͎̜̻̭̯̩̥͇̠͛̏ ̷̪̦̱̙̹̜̖̻͒̽ȩ̴̫͓̪̺̰̳͔͍̞̜̬̺̀̀̏̍̃̈́ͅͅy̶̙̋̓̾̔̅̊̀̎̕̚͠͝e̵̡̨̖̱͍̮͈̩͇̳͐͑̃̈́̌̀̓͘s̵̢̞̪̘̼̜̦̜͂̊͌̏̄̔̽̃͝ ̷̨͉̥̳̱̭̱̦̬̳̬̈́͊̑̇͠͠͝o̶̡̱͓͉͇̬͙̥̎̉̓͜n̷͎̠̻̟̱̹̳̞̟̋͂̒͗̏̑̍̌͛ͅ ̸̥̤̲̺̱̿̆̑̓͋ț̸̱̠͈̹̣̭̽͌̉̌̋͐̽͑͝ȟ̷̨̰̾ȩ̷̟̤̰͉͈̝͈͕͓̰̩̯̽̂̃͂̾̿͘̕͝ ̴̱̠͚̘̞̟̩̰͓͙͗͋͒̌̓̅͜͠į̷̡͓͓̱͈̗̳͈̤̪͓͆̊̈́͌̈̋̾̇̈͐̕ͅň̴̘̮͔̬̄s̶̢̛̛̱̤͕̲̲̝̤͎̩̬͚̫͔̖͋͆͗̈́̒̌͆̈́̆̈̐͝͝ḯ̶̛̟̼̪͇͖͙̼͂̅̾̾̿͌̆̑̍̆̓̓͝d̶̡̬̤̰͓͕͙̺̮̗̗͉̑́̈͑̈́͊́̑̈́̅͜e̷̛̛͉͚̱̬̞͂̊̍̍̉̎̀̅̈̈ ̴̻̟̦͚̥͚̌̅̉̆̉̇̎̃̈́̓͊͜ ̵̢̢͉̥̙̙̽̆̅͂ ̸̜̿͊̀̂̊͌̍́͛̆͘͠

Weapons dug into his skin. Beasts lunged at him. Spells flew after him. They didn't register.

Shirou ran.

Bullets penetrated his skin and somebody called out his name. It didn't register. His body didn't have any energy left. It didn't register.

He ran as vermin gnawed at his cornea and something itched inside his skull, just behind his forehead. Like teeth growing out, something grew from the tender flesh of his brain like a tumor.

Blood exploded out of the weak confines of his veins and through his skin. Muscles, skin and bones writhed and mutated. It barely registered.

Shirou ran, until his legs gave out and he doubled over. He vomited a river of blood along with things he couldn't see, as his eyes were blinded with red. His organs constricted and pushed against each other, wanting to flee from this prison. To become something else.

Time passed. Within what would be the last seconds of a dying man, a silver of base intelligence glinted. An ingrained instinct to fight against the inevitable. A needle punctured his leg, forced down by a hand – his hand. Foreign blood poured into him.

Death once again had failed to take him.

His red-consumed vision finally saw his surroundings. An open cemetery in land it wasn't supposed to have one, situated in a place he didn't recognize. A cemetery with no graves.

Gore tinged the floor in red. As if a hurricane of blades had shaved and skewered them, there were no recognizable features. What were once beasts had become lumps of meat with their organs spread around. Only one retained his form. A giant clad in white robes, taller than even a Cleric Beast. A monumental halberd lay useless beside him.

A Knight stood in the center of it all, clad in silver armor, the only one standing in a field of the dead.

He turned to Shirou, the crow feathers behind him fluttering with the wind. Beneath the Knight, laying on the cobbled floor, a gleaming sword teemed with unrestrained bloodlust. His frayed mind couldn't tell him much, other than it and its owner wanted nothing more than spilling blood.

"Oh...you're finally up. What a pleasant surprise, though you don't seem capable of reciprocating now." His armored head tilted. "From the look on your face, you had a staring competition with one of the Amygdalas prowling those buildings. Tell me, who blinked first?"

The knight spoke in a baritone voice, resounding oddly with the steel plate covering his face. The sound was metallic and guttural.

It wasn't the most startling thing about him. Shirou had seen those feathers before, forming a cape behind his armor. He growled, teeth bared and jaw still tinged red with blood. His throat was raw, the words struggling to come out. "Stay back."

The man backtracked, sliding back like a snake and a chuckle in his lips. "I'm sorry. I must have seemed terribly frightening armed and covered in blood as I am." He inclined back and sat on the head of the giant's corpse. "I always make such terrible first impressions. I'll keep a healthy distance between us; how does that sound?"

"Don't worry about that. I'll get out of your way now."

He hummed. "Please don't. A conversation will do us both good. No man should be surrounded only by the corpses of beasts. There's enough madness in these accursed lands." The armored man knocked on the giant's forehead, as if to emphasize his point. He intertwined his fingers, seemingly capable of watching Shirou without the aid of his eyes. "Besides, you have this peculiar scent hanging on you. It reminds me quite a bit of an old friend of mine. What's your name, young hunter?"

"Emiya Shirou."

"A strange name. Well, I'm sorry but I can't retribute the favor, as I have forsaken my name long ago."

Shirou held his ground, not saying anything.

"Yes, I have a title now," he spoke as if Shirou had asked. "It is much more important-sounding, don't you think? The Bloody Crow," he said, letting the words hang out in the air. "But enough of that. By any chance, have you seen any Executioners on your way? I have been dying to meet one of them."

"No." Shirou grimaced, forcing himself to stand straight. "Why do you ask?"

"No need to hide it. The second you laid eyes on my cape I knew that you met the old crow, and surely you can connect the dots." He leaned forward. "Tell me, Emiya Shirou, what am I?"

The image of the Blades of Mercy formed in his mind. All he had to do was to make it real. "Dead if you move another inch." Empty bravado, Shirou himself knew. His shaky knees were failing to keep him standing and he couldn't swing his arms, let alone a weapon.

A Hunter of Hunters was his opponent, and he saw no victory coming out of this.

The man drew back in deliberate steps. "No need to be so skittish. You haven't done anything to deserve being hunted, have you?" He picked up his sword and drew a lazy circle onto the ground with it, the steel gnashing against the cobblestone. Then, the blade was pointed at him. "Perhaps I should rephrase that. Are you worthy of dying by my blade?"

Shirou tensed and his hands prepared to wrap around weapons that weren't there yet.

The Bloody Crow chuckled. "At ease. It was but a jest. Yes, I want to cross blades with those men, but it is only natural. They invaded my homeland and slaughtered their way from the children to our very queen." He shook his head ruefully. "And I didn't get to take a single head as retribution. What an embarrassment I am to my ancestors."

He sheathed his sword and vanished.

Eyes wide, Shirou looked behind. The man stood there, immobile, his point given and proven.

From the beginning, Shirou had no chance.

"I sense potential in you. A word of advice, from the strongest hunter in the waking world to a newborn giving his first steps. Slaughter your way to Cathedral Ward. Bath in the blood of the beasts guarding the streets. There, at the end of your path, you'll find a worthy foe to sharpen your fangs against. Vicar Amelia must be feeling lonely up there."

The Bloody Crow laughed, sending chills down Shirou's spine. "But beware. The beasts might be the least of your concerns."

Metallic steps reverberated in the air, and Shirou's limbs only uncoiled when he was far, far away. He reached inside his garb and pulled out a vial filled with precious, revitalizing blood. The needle punctured through his garb, and the injection breathed life into his body.

It also eased a craving he shoved back into the depths of his mind. So long as he didn't acknowledge it, he could resist it. Shirou reached to his back and the familiar handle of his Saw Cleaver was a comforting sensation amidst the chaos.

He needed comfort – any he could get.

He had seen too much, more than he could comprehend. The excess was blissfully buried somewhere in his mind, even if its presence had given birth to something.

Shirou rubbed more blood away with his sleeve. He could rest when he was done.

"To the hunt, then."

And if his blows now had a more savage, madder quality to them, Shirou didn't notice.

* * *

**Here it is. Hope you guys liked it! Leave your comments and feedblack please!**

**And yeah, I told you guys way back that Shirou's sense of smell would be relevant. Shirou smelled an Amygdala and it was so terrifying he puked his guts out. Ffs Amy G, go take a shower or something.**


	15. Chapter 13

**Sup people, I'm back as promised!**

**Just to do a quick recap so you don't feel lost, here's what's been happening. If you feel like you have an amazing memory (I don't), skip right ahead. I'll start from Gascoigne's death (wait, he dead?)**

**Shirou got some nice PTSD, brought Gascoigne's daughter to the Chapel and finally visited the dream. Gherman was ominous and Shirou was scaroused by everyone's waifu (just kidding, he was mostly freaked out, like any normal person would've been).**

**Then, he met Sakura in the chapel. I'm sure nothing horrible will come out from that front. No siir.**

**In the next, it was a clusterfuck involving everyone's favorite grandpa - Zouken, of course - Kirei and Gil. Kirei got to watch Zouken running with his worms between his legs and Gil treated like a child. It was a great night for the good priest. Probably not for Rin, who might or might not have been looking out her window.**

**Then, Gil explained to Shirou about the Grail War, how Yharnam and Fuyuki were connected, and low-key nudged Shirou into the Epic of Shirou route: "Give'em dirty gods the boot, onii-san! HFY!"**

**Then, Shirou got back to Yharnam, was freaked out by the doll and had a heart to heart with Gherman. Of course, the nice feels were offset by cosmic devil, which sent Shirou running like a headless chicken. And exploding blood. Not sure how that worked, but it did. Then, he met the Bloody Crow, who 'nothing personel'd' him. It was very edgy and cool.**

**Aaand here we are. Hope you guys enjoy it!**

* * *

**Chapter 13**

The evening sun shone, casting down a dim light upon the hunt's grounds. Far away, the Cathedral's bell tolled, as if a ceremony to yet another life leaving the waking world.

Shirou removed his weapon from the corpse of the giant crow, and wet, squelching noises resounded in the chilly air. The sharp blade of his cleaver was tainted crimson with the spoils of many hunts – blood that would empower him and his weapons. He sighed and willed a piece of cloth into existence with his magecraft.

Five of them were needed before it resembled the pristine, if barbed and crooked, appearance of its conception. It was for the comfort of everyone that called the chapel their home for now; their situation was terrible enough that it didn't need the additional memento of the outside world on top of it all.

"It's pretty useless, isn't it?" he mused.

No matter how much he hid it from their eyes, the overpowering scents of the hunt clinging to his garb as if woven into it gave everything away. Worried looks had followed him whenever he left to clean the area and making recon of the Cathedral Ward area.

Times locked in a deathly struggle against beasts had sharpened his eyes in more than just the battlefield. He snorted. Fuji-nee had called him dense constantly over the years; maybe all he had needed to get over it was a good enough incentive to pay attention to his surroundings.

He could've done without the mortal danger and fearing for the life of others, though.

Twisting in his heel, Shirou walked towards the chapel.

Blood pounded in his skull in a rush, striking his skull like a nauseating wave.

g̸̢̧̘̱͍̺͚̘̺͇̯̲̝͕̏̏͊̉̉͜͝r̵̦̦̋̈͗̓̈́̿͋̍̽͌̋̒͝ȃ̶̢̢̞͉̲͙̤͇̟̰̘̓̽̈́̿̈̈́̔̏̀̈́̀̈́͜͠n̶̡̡͙͍̮̎̽̌̍̃́̔͋̕͘ţ̸̼͍̓̉̀̍̔͗̋̽͑͆͐́̊̊̕ ̶̧̨̦͇̻͎͙̙̪̘͕͂̌̂̾̔̊͠͠ẏ̸̨̤̅̌̚͜ơ̸̛͈͈͎̯̎̓̂̎̓͊͘̚ű̵͉̰͈̫̼͐͑́͐͗̎̍́͊̊̕͜͝ͅ ̵͈͕̬͓̼̮̳̖̠̈͒̈́͛̚͝e̸̛̠͓̖͕̜͒̊́̉̆͐͛͑̐̃͛̇̑̿ý̵̤̤̆̐̄̐̀̔̃͘͝͝ȩ̶̖̜̳̯̮͚̳̅̈́͊̇̔s̵̡̢̪̝͔̠͇̹͍̳͌̀̅͛ ̴̨͎̰̳̝̙̪͖͚̗̟̹̼͊͋̊̈͌͠͝͠ͅͅg̶̤̾͂͑̽̇͠r̸͕͍̪̤͈̪̃̃̉̒̀͛̌̽̓̓̕̕â̶̡̤̠̞͕̪̦͗͛̿́͗̄̑͌̑́ņ̴̖͑̏̌͂͂̆̐̿̚ẗ̴̳̯̬̳͉̘̼͖͓̘̺̱́̑̒̾̆ ̴̡̟̤̼͈̌͜ẏ̷̢̢̛̥̝̟̗͎͎̤͑̈́̅͗̀̈́̑̑̒̚̚̕̚͜ͅͅo̷̢̧̯̤̼̖̬͙̜̹͙̭̤̘͑̾͋̿͗̐̀ǘ̸̪̻̤͕͔͍̣͕̯̰̬̫̟̦̺͌͌́͒̊̾́ ̶̡̲̬̥͖̖̪͍̠́̋̑͌̾͌͊̂̄͛͜͜͝͝ę̵͙̘̯̣̬̭̘̰̳̲͗̎́̋̇̐̋́͋̎̑̕͠y̴̥̽́̆̒̋͠͝e̸̪̠̞̟̻̳͉̖̜̟̒̀͊͌s̶͙̀̃̈̔̓̍̓̄ ̵͎̻͚̩̭̻̺̀̈́̑̎͒̍̌̊̽͠͠ė̶̝͔̦̬͖̾͒ÿ̸̛̱͕̝̠̪͓̟̲͙́͋̔̓͋͗̀̽́̎̔̚ͅȩ̸̧̨͍̭̣̞͕̬͔̗͚̺̗̗̇͑̽̽̂̀̾̀̾̐͛́s̸͍͈̪͙͎̜̻̭̯̩̥͇̠͛̏ ̷̪̦̱̙̹̜̖̻͒̽ȩ̴̫͓̪̺̰̳͔͍̞̜̬̺̀̀̏̍̃̈́ͅͅy̶̙̋̓̾̔̅̊̀̎̕̚͠͝e̵̡̨̖̱͍̮͈̩͇̳͐͑̃̈́̌̀̓͘s̵̢̞̪̘̼̜̦̜͂̊͌̏̄̔̽̃͝ ̷̨͉̥̳̱̭̱̦̬̳̬̈́͊̑̇͠͠͝o̶̡̱͓͉͇̬͙̥̎̉̓͜n̷͎̠̻̟̱̹̳̞̟̋͂̒͗̏̑̍̌͛ͅ ̸̥̤̲̺̱̿̆̑̓͋ț̸̱̠͈̹̣̭̽͌̉̌̋͐̽͑͝ȟ̷̨̰̾ȩ̷̟̤̰͉͈̝͈͕͓̰̩̯̽̂̃͂̾̿͘̕͝ ̴̱̠͚̘̞̟̩̰͓͙͗͋͒̌̓̅͜͠į̷̡͓͓̱͈̗̳͈̤̪͓͆̊̈́͌̈̋̾̇̈͐̕ͅň̴̘̮͔̬̄s̶̢̛̛̱̤͕̲̲̝̤͎̩̬͚̫͔̖͋͆͗̈́̒̌͆̈́̆̈̐͝͝ḯ̶̛̟̼̪͇͖͙̼͂̅̾̾̿͌̆̑̍̆̓̓͝d̶̡̬̤̰͓͕͙̺̮̗̗͉̑́̈͑̈́͊́̑̈́̅͜e̷̛̛͉͚̱̬̞͂̊̍̍̉̎̀̅̈̈ ̴̻̟̦͚̥͚̌̅̉̆̉̇̎̃̈́̓͊͜ ̵̢̢͉̥̙̙̽̆̅͂ ̸̜̿͊̀̂̊͌̍́͛̆͘͠

His hand flew to his nose and he pinched it close painfully. Blood lurched inside his head, giving way to a mounting headache that throbbed like nails being driven in his forehead. His innards seemed to vibrate, as if they were lurching out of his body. To walk another inch forward meant getting closer to the monster.

'Count the steps, count the steps,' he chanted. 'One, two, three...'

Twenty-nine. He started over from the beginning. All his energy, all his focus, were directed into the silent meditation – one to escape that twisted, impossible truth. As many had told him, there were occasions in which it was better not to look closely. He started over, and over, and over...

His heartbeat was clearer than ever, erratic and desperate, and through hazy thoughts, his lungs begged for a gulf of air. However, even passing out due to asphyxia was a better outcome than having revealed to him things he wasn't ready to experience again.

ę̵͕̮͓̜͚̥̼̬͍̑̋y̶̢̗̘͙̲͂͜e̵̙̓̊s̴̛̻̫̤̲̀͠ ̷̡͋ȯ̴͚̞͑́̀̏͒̀͆̄̋̀́̀̚p̸̢̧̢̞̣̠͖͍͚̙͔̤̝͈̺̊̾͑ě̷̝̣̼͉̲͉͎̗̀̓͊̓̓̽̿̋̌̏̃͠͝ͅͅn̵̟̗̥̈̏̾́̾̅̑͋̕ ̸̢̣̳̄́̓̃̓̒̀̾̕̚͝͝y̸̧̡͈̟͙̹̺̞̗͓͇͐ͅǫ̷͙͔͙̲̱̘͌̀̈́̈́́͆̏̅̑͐u̷̥̫̦̠͓̮͇̲͐̄͌͒̑̉r̷̛͍̉͝ ̸̢̤͉̼̦̯͗̌̏̌̉̅̓ȩ̷̜̰̰̥͚̹̬̰̙̦̥̫͐͑̑͗͛̾̑̈̆̆̄̽͜͝y̵̧͙̪̟͌̓̇̔͝ͅͅẽ̷̮̭͔̱͎̭̝͉s̴̡̫̜͖̲͖̦̮̳̰̰͎͐̓ͅ ̶̖͓̈́͒͒͌̊͊͌̎̉̔̀͗̚͠ǫ̶͉̖͖͖͚͈̰̘͍̫̬̒͂̽̆̆̑͝͝͝p̴̢̪̜͍̤̂͒̈́́̓̃͗̊̋͒̄̉̂̚̚ͅḙ̷̮̤̺̞̫̻̫͆̆͜͝ͅn̴̞͕̙̭̹̩̄̈́͠ ̷̡̢̟͓̘̬͎̤̯̂͌̒̓͜t̴̡̤̤͍͎̙͖̪̹̥́̍̀̏̍̃͑̐̓̊͑ͅh̴̢̛̤̣̞͇̱̪͕̜̲͋͒̄́͐͛̄̎̉͘̚͘̚͝e̴͚͍̣̐͊́̅̂͐̿͛͋̌̚͝͠m̷̢͍̜̭̮͈̝̜͌͂͘ ̶̡̺̹̝̻͙̼͓̻̹͇̟̪͇́̍̍̅͊́ͅo̶̺̤̗͛̀͐̍͗̽̎͘͘p̸̡̨͈͉͂͋̈́͆̄̋͛͑ë̴̢̛̠̝̤͚̥̰̱̙̯͒̈́̊̌̈́̋̈͒̀̈́̅͝͝ͅň̵͔̭̗̣̇͌̄̔͊͌̑̇ ̶̱̠̄̂̀y̷̪͕̆̄̊̈́̔̇͗́̎̕̚͝͝͠ơ̵̲̻̣̭̪͍̫͎͎̼̗̈̆̂͋̓̊͑ư̶̡̮̹̈́͐̓ŗ̶̛͖͓͕͔̊̒̓̍̍̊͐́ ̸̢̞̹̮͍̮̭͒̐ͅe̷̫̣̠͆̂͌̃̏̽͝͝ͅy̵̛̞͙̰͕͎͈̻͖͙̹͔̾̔̓̔̊̈̀́͂̃̽̇̂é̸̘̜̪̻̹͎̱̭̘̭̟̊̍͒̆̐̐͌͒͊s̷̘̭̽̄͋̀̚͜͜ ̵̤͉̰̓̅͒̌́̔̓̐̋̾̒̄͜͝ỏ̷̦͉̙̗̠͉͔̣̀́͜p̸̺̄̑̇̀̂͛̀̃́͐̓̒͘̚e̸̤̻̥̫͙͓̮̦̜̔̌̄̒̈́̽͆̈́̄͛̿̌̾͝n̷̨̛͖̱͙̰͕̝̲̗͚̲̔̾̃̒̅̃̀̆̋̾͜͠ ̷̢̤͈̞̝͉͚̙̋̅̄̽̈́́͂̅͠͠o̸̙̪͊̏̈p̷̭͚̠̮̘̮̖̪͒̊͆̂̓̿̄̽e̵̩͍͌̂̔̄͑̅̔̇͌̓̆̚͝͝n̴̩̄̀́̈̅̀͌͗͊̕͝ ̷̡̨̨͇̭̫̬̼̳̮̳̣̜̩͛͌̑̓́̅̿̐̀̈́̏̌̈́̐͑t̵̨̢͇͕̜͔̤͕̘͙̪͑͌́̿̀̆͑̎ͅh̷̨͔̥̮̫͇̳̑͛͛̈e̶̛̦͚̩͍̙̙̤͕̍́̏̃̾̈́̿̈́m̵̡̰̼̜̳̝͖̥̤̲̀͒͑̂͘

Shirou's chest burned, and he stumbled ahead drowsily as invisible hands began letting go of their grasp onto his mind. When, in what it seemed like an eternity, he found himself inside a narrow corridor decorated by lined, stony idols of a robed woman wearing a crown at each side, he finally let go.

Fumbling for a grip on the cold stone walls, he breathed, and every inhalation was liquid fire flowing in his limbs, and the pungent smell of incense from every corner of the chapel only fanned the flames heating the insides of his lungs.

Slowly, his conscience sharpened, and only the Dweller, who had rapidly looked away, had noticed his arrival. Shirou entered the chapel's grand hall and forced a smile on his face.

"I'm back," he said, looking around. Only the sights of Sakura and the Dweller's greeted him, and he frowned.

"Welcome back," said Sakura, eyes intent on the floor. She sat on an uncomfortable-looking wooden chair, and had adamantly refused that he projected something comfier to her on other occasions.

"Arabella isn't around again?"

Sakura shook her head.

Shirou massaged his temples. The last few days had been rough on her, and the first time he hadn't been in the chapel when she had woken up had driven her to tears. Immediately after he returned, her small figure barreled onto his, as if to make sure he was truly there.

A true hero of justice would've been around to comfort her in the most difficult time of her life, but staying with her meant letting many people die out in the hunt and leavings its mysteries unsolved. A cure for all the suffering contaminating Yharnam out of his reach, and the Grail War, the only possible solution he had stumbled on, was still far away.

Once, Kiritsugu had told him saving someone meant not saving someone else. His childish fantasies rebelled against it, even if back then, being a child himself, he had already accepted that reality as fact.

It wasn't so easily overruled.

"It's alright, sir," said the Dweller breathily, "the beasts don't wander in the tomb; they're a holy place, those grounds. The little one is safe."

He glared at the man. "There's nothing holy about that place."

The Dweller flinched, and an unpleasant sensation gnawed at Shirou's stomach. He hadn't meant to snap at the man, he was just...

Tired.

"Sorry," he said.

"It's quite alright, sir. I know what the hunt does to one's nerves. I myself can't stand the sight of blood and guts, hehehe," said the man, and his laughter seemed to bleed the nervousness that stuck to him like his clothes. The pace with which he rolled a pebble in his hands intensified.

Shirou nodded at him. He turned to Sakura. "Sorry I took so long. I'm trying to come up with a map of this place so I can find a way out faster." He rubbed the back of his head. "Henryk never took me here so I get lost pretty often."

And as it happened, the beasts were wonderful guides. He had learned to identify places not through its landmarks – even outside Central Yharnam, the city could be extraordinarily monochromatic with its graves and coffins – but through the bloodstains he left along the way.

'Right here, a beast sunk its teeth in my leg. There, by that dead-looking tree, a giant with a halberd almost carved my chest open.'

Emiya Shirou, Yharnam's tourist guide. He probably would have been the nicest one around to boot. At least he didn't greet foreigners with profanity at best, skewering them with a rusted pitchfork at worst. The traditional Yharnam hospitality.

Her small hands were balled into fists "It's okay. I'm not lonely here," she said, still not making eye-contact. She went silent, deep in thought. "I'm sorry I didn't stop her. She gets upset if I try to follow her."

Shirou smiled reassuringly at Sakura. "I don't blame you. And I do get worried that you're lonely."

Sakura was quiet and withdrawn, and Arabella was far from the cheery girl he first met, yet he had found more than once the Dweller entertaining them with his stories and mannerisms. Despite his initial misgivings, it looked like Sakura had been right about him. He was a good man.

But the way she drew into herself when she thought no one was looking told him the situation was far from ideal still.

"I don't mind. No one else should come to Yharnam," said Sakura.

His smile fell. "Yeah, you're right."

Dealing with yet more people from his world would only add more trouble to his already filled to the brim plate. Gil had told him Fuyuki and Yharnam had been connected somehow, but so far only Sakura had crossed that bridge.

That he knew of, at least. Recent events had done much to prove his ignorance in a wide variety of subjects.

"So, how is school going? It's a shame we aren't in the same building, right? Shinji I get to see pretty often; more often than he'd like, he says."

Though Shinji had been alternating between avoiding him and taunting him the way a kid would poke through the bars of a wild animal's cage in a zoo. Testing and provoking him behind safety.

Or that was the impression he got, at least. He had been treating Shinji the same way as ever.

"It's fine. My grades improved this semester."

No mentions of friends, clubs or any kind of social life. He had never been particularly good at small talk, but she definitely didn't cooperate either.

'Or she really doesn't have anything to say...'

Matou Zouken. That man had been far more interested in Sakura than Shinji from their conversation, and unlike his friend, Sakura exuded mana, if in a small amount. Kiritsugu had told him magi usually had only one heir, so maybe Shinji didn't know about magecraft in the first place.

'And it makes sense,' he thought. Magi were recluses who dedicated their lives to perfect their craft. Going to school and making friends with mundane kids might be against what Zouken wanted for her.

But what kind of experiments a man who reeked of rot and decay was running to advance his studies? That nightmarish vision of rot and decay that oozed from Zouken plagued Shirou when he so much as thought of the man wasn't present in Sakura. Her talent as a magus was barely perceptible, and sometimes it was hard not to think of her as just a normal, if shy, girl.

And if she knew he and Zouken had met, she never mentioned it. All he knew was that she had evaded all his invitations for lunch and to meet after school.  
'Might as well try again.'

_"Etch this into your mind. You shouldn't fight Matou Zouken unless you're absolutely sure you can win," said Gil._

He pursed his lips. It didn't matter. Zouken had implied he wanted them to be close. He was playing into the old man's hands with this for reasons he didn't know, but letting Sakura and Shinji near him for any longer than necessary wasn't an option.

And it justified him staying in Fuyuki. So long as there were things to do back in his home, he didn't need to give the final step.

"Anyway, Sakura. How about you come for dinner back in my place? You can bring Shinji too if you want. That guy always complained about my house being boring, but with the three of us together and Fuji-nee I'm pretty sure no one will be bored."

The clash of personalities assured a busy night if nothing else.

She nodded mechanically.

Shirou took a moment to process it. Her approval had no enthusiasm behind it. "Great! Sorry about asking, but what changed your mind?"

A shadow was cast on her features. "I got permission."

Shirou's grin froze. Zouken...

"A-ah, alright. That's good! How about tomorrow at eight?"

"Okay."

"Great! Then it's settled. I'll be right back – I just have to stop by my place and leave some things there."

Sakura nodded, and so Shirou walked to the center of the grand hall. The Dweller, a few feet away, hadn't paid their conversation any mind, content with rolling his pebble and, occasionally, praying under his breath. The lantern gleamed invitingly at Shirou.

"Senpai?" her voice called out from behind him.

Shirou looked back. "What is it, Sakura?"

Her lips trembled, as if warring within themselves. "Why don't you follow your friend down there?" she asked, her voice small.

Silence reigned, and with every passing second Sakura wilted on her chair. He returned his gaze to the lantern.

"I don't have the right to."

His feet took him to the lantern, and it to a far-away dream. One that didn't allow him to escape reality, but only burrow deeper into it.

* * *

Hours later, Shirou roamed the residential district of Cathedral Ward, the words of the Dweller as he had returned resonating in his mind. To call the misty alley with small houses glued to each other in rows a district was a little too charitable, but few people apparently wanted to call this place home.

Not that he could have judged them. Just on the way down, he had to deal with a dozen beasts, including priests capable of blood sorcery and towering giants that surpassed even the Cleric Beast in size.

_"But if you spot anyone with their wits about 'em. Tell them about this here Oedon Chapel. They'll be safe here. The incense wards off the beasts..." said the Dweller._

Whether the chapel was truly safe or not with it hanging on its walls he wasn't sure, but it made no efforts to attack him so far, and only he had been able to sense its presence. Perhaps it was biding its time for when the incense ran out or even hibernating.

There was very little he could be sure about on that front, but the chapel was a much safer place compared to most of the houses surrounding him, with their rusted chains and padlocks and fragile wooden doors. A wilder beast would have torn those defenses apart like nothing.

And so, he braced himself for the onslaught, and knocked on a door. Incense wafted from leaking barrels by every house, giving the entire alley an ethereal visage. He explained his case.

"Away with you, now!"

He knocked on another door and offered a safe haven.

"Lousy offcomer. Who'd open their door on a night of the hunt? Good luck staying alive till morning!"

He knocked on another door and argued that their house wasn't protected from the hunt.

"Outside, on a night of the hunt? You must be sick mate. Black death upon ya!"

Shirou rapped on his forehead with his knuckles. "Sorry to bother you, sir." He sighed, and withheld a few choice words he had for them, their behavior and Yharnam in general. He trudged towards the house in the far end of the alley. Bottles with small droplets of blood running down the glass and barrels leaking incense stood in front of the door. He knocked on it. A woman responded.

"Oh, my, what a queer scent...but I'd take it over the stench of blood and beasts any day. What is it, then? I'm off during hunts, so if that's what you're here for, I'll leave you to your own devices. If that doesn't do it, come back in the morning, darling."

Shirou blinked. The voice of the woman was the calmest and most inviting he got for all night, but what exactly had she dismissed him from?

"Huh, miss, I'm a hunter. Do you have a minute to talk? I know of a safe place, and things here aren't looking very safe."

"Oh, thank goodness. But that voice; you're awfully young for a hunter, aren't you? And here I was, offering that to you. My apologies," she said with a dainty chuckle.

'Offering what, exactly? Is she some kind of salesperson?' he thought. Well, it didn't really matter. He was the one with looking for any takers for his offer.

He straightened himself to his full height, even if she probably couldn't see him. "I'm older than I look, miss. Yeah, I'm a hunter, and I do mean it about a safe place."

"That'd be very much appreciated, young man. Would you mind telling me where it is? The night is long and I've very little of incense left."

"It's in the Oedon Chapel. I can show you the way, if you'd like."

"That's not necessary. You must have better things to do on a night of the hunt than escorting me; I wouldn't want to drag you down."

Shirou frowned. "I don't, actually. Right now, nothing is more important than getting you all to safety." Even if most of them spat on his offer and mocked him for even trying.

Though that wasn't completely fair. To their minds, there was an actual risk of him hoodwinking them, and more than once he had been accused to be a kidnapper or a hunter of the church. Only someone truly desperate would have taken the chance when a random foreigner knocked on their door speaking of salvation.

His heart clenched for the woman behind the door.

Faintly, he heard a sharp intake of breath. "Is that so? And you seem so sincere about it, too. Might I ask if you're a foreigner?"

He chuckled. "Yeah. Did my accent give it away?"

She gave a laugh of her own. "Not at all, your kindness did. That's a rare currency in this land."

A familiar symphony of various kinds of locks getting undone grated at his ears. It was a slow and methodical process to dismantle the many safeties the Yharnamites set up in their homes, and its pace never failed to unnerve him, as if it was inviting things to go wrong.

But right here, that safety had been a pleasant illusion at best, and the woman inside had known it.

The door was opened, and a tall woman with cropped, dirty blonde hair surged from within. She was thin, almost gaunt and had blue eyes. She wore an expensive-looking dress that left her collarbones exposed, jutting out through the skin.

She smiled at him. "Shall we be off, then?" With that said, she strode ahead, not looking back.

Shirou's cheeks flushed. Something about her and that smile made him double-check the alley. No one had been watching, so he followed suit. "You know the way?"

"Of course, but I can't quite defend myself from the beasts. Without you, the journey would've been very risky."

He scratched his nape. "I'm glad to help." Shirou blinked. "Sorry, I completely forgot. What's your name, miss?"

The woman looked back at him. "It's Arianna, darling. Thank you again for escorting me there."

Shirou opened his mouth to reply, but dull yet heavy steps echoed in the shadowy alley. His eyes darted ahead and locked on an unnaturally large figure, and twice as tall as him. A dark grey robe covered most of its body, but its disproportionately huge right hand jutted outside of it. In its left arm, it carried a sack that fell down to the back of its knees.

His eyes went wide and he slowly reached for his Saw Cleaver. The sack was more than large enough to fit a human being.

Then, just as his fingers brushed on its barbed handle, a hand pulled him aside, taking him to cover. Now behind one of the alley's walls, he looked at Arianna, whose eyes shone with unrestrained fear.

"You can't fight that," she whispered, hand gripping his wrist with surprising strength. Her fingers were cold on his skin.

"I have to. It might follow us otherwise," he whispered back.

She wrapped her other hand around his forearm and pulled him closer. "You don't understand. Those things kidnap people that roam the streets in a night of the hunt, including hunters."

"I can deal with it."

"You don't have to," she urged.

"Beasts have sharp senses. It'll find us."

There was no escaping without a fight, and if it was as strong as Arianna said, then killing it would save more people along the way.

And give him the strength to fight even worse beasts later with its echoes. The blood in his veins sang at the thought. A hollow sensation began to build within him, as if he had finally noticed how empty he was, and the blood would fill that hole.

He needed it. More than anything in his life. The strength, the life rolling in his limbs and how right it would feel.

"Please..."

The trance ended, blown away by a mighty wind. A small voice had asked Emiya Shirou for help.

In the end, it was all he had truly needed.

"Trace on." Mana flowed from his circuit and into his auditory system. Billowing incense, the coming and going of the wind and even his and Arianna's heartbeat became clearer as his audition was reinforced.

And so did the kidnapper's steps. They now rumbled in his ears like small earthquakes, ones that approached their hideout. Closer and closer, more erratic and exploding in his mind like bombs. His heart thundered in kind. Arianna's vice-like grip resisted, but his hand descended to snatch his pistol, the other arm ready to shove her behind him.

Then, as its grey robe became visible, it gave a sharp turn behind. It paced around the alley, seemingly devoid of direction or goal in an almost idle patrol.

Minutes later, the rumbling steps grew distant, coming from higher and higher. It had walked upstairs. He let the mana disperse from his ears.

Shirou exhaled. "It's safe now."

"How are you sure?" she whispered.

"Trust me, I can tell."

She pursed her lips and locked eyes with him. Apparently satisfied, she followed as he left their cover. The street was empty again.

The tension seeped out of her body. She smiled at him. "I told you it wouldn't find us."

Shirou's face scrunched up. "We were lucky. Beasts are usually sharper than that."

"Well, then the gods looked down at us poor mortals kindly for once."

They started their way in silence after that. Shirou remained vigilant as they crossed the dangerous grounds, now climbing upstairs. The quiet rankled at him, and in their way there was evidence of when he had walked this path in the form of corpses of beasts.

He smiled at her. It was brittle and tired, but he hoped it conveyed how sincere he was. "Thanks. I almost lost myself there for a moment." He gazed down at his hands, which had been shaking with an alien craving.

'I'm getting worse,' he thought. Such was the price for the power he needed.

There was no returning, and even if there was, he had already made up his mind.

A clash of steel on steel rang in the air, and so did choked screams that made the hairs on his nape stand. Shirou held out a hand to Arianna and she stopped on her tracks. Adrenaline flooded his mind and suddenly everything was potentially dangerous.

"Stay here," he said.

Shirou knew that area by heart. A street guarded by white-robed priests, with stone idols scattered around it and leading the way to an open field where giants roamed, guarding the path towards the Grand Cathedral.

He bounded up the last few flights of stairs and watched as a body impacted into a carriage that carried steely coffins, and they thundered as they fell, the wooden supports ruined. A dark-haired man in intricate blue robes charged, sword in hand, at an armored knight, who deflected his blow and, in a smooth transition, beheaded him. The head flew, gushing out blood in Shirou's direction. The knight strode towards the other body.

"You..." said Shirou.

Shirou unfurled his cleaver and snatched his pistol. The Bloody Crow zeroed on him, this time without his helmet, and smiled, before skewering the blue-robed man. The man died with smoldering eyes, and mouthing curses at his killer.

"Oh, it's you, Shirou. We must stop meeting like this," he said, eyes roaming the corpses around him. Like Arianna, he was blond, blue-eyed and had sharp features. He snorted, running a hand on his grizzled hair. "Though I suppose you're getting just the right impression. You can't say you were deceived at any point."

Shirou gritted his teeth and began closing the distance between them. "You don't have to worry about that. I knew the kind of guy you are from the start."

Defeating that man was impossible for him as he was. The bloodlust in his sword and the view of his fight told him their skills were like day and night apart. But he had something the Bloody Crow didn't. Death wasn't an issue for him; and if his life was a currency that would always be refunded, then there was no issue in spending it like this.

And a part of him, visceral and beastly, welcomed the challenge.

**Embrace it.**

"So skittish again. I've been keeping an eye on you, but as I told you before, I'm not interested yet." His gaze shifted to Shirou's right, where Arianna had been peeking from behind Shirou and he gave a smile full of teeth. "Your companion on the other hand...that remains to be seen."

Shirou cursed under his breath. "Arianna, run to the chapel. I'll hold him back," he called out. All he had to do was make sure she passed and ran downstairs as he fought the Bloody Crow.

They were so close...

The knight looked at Shirou in bemusement, as if not sure of what to make out of him.

Urging her to go with his eyes, Shirou watched in trepidation as she didn't take the hint.

Arianna marched up. "It's fine Shirou. He's unpleasant, but so were everyone else back home. I can deal with him myself."

Shirou stared at her. Arianna faced the Bloody Crow, shoulders square and chin jutted up.

The man laughed. "Unpleasant is a way to put it. Then again, it's always good to meet family after so long apart." He sheathed his sword, striding to Arianna, sizing her up. "And is that noble dress I see?"

"It's an inheritance, nothing more," she said serenely.

Shirou tracked his movements through attentive eyes, inching slightly in response towards every step.

"I can tell by your age. But a woman of your beauty and exotic appearance living in these slums, looking so thin and weary," he said, chewing on his lips. "Bearing the royal dress, which means no real life-skills of your own, stranded in a land where our blood is hated..." He slapped his forehead and cackled. "I see what's going on. The last of our blood is thriving, indeed!"

Shirou watched them back and forth, out of the loop. Arianna looked at the man with thinly concealed distaste.

"So you won't take me back to that horrid place? Or kill us?" asked Arianna.

"To what? Ghosts and Gargoyles? Besides, I couldn't even if I wanted to. I'm not welcome home anymore; the Queen can't stand the sight of me. Their loss I suppose, since I would've been one more body to throw at the Church's zealots, with their fanaticism and wheels."

'Wheels?' thought Shirou, eyebrows scrunched. It didn't matter.

He had ignored her second question.

He continued, nudging the headless corpse with his foot, a thoughtful expression on his face. "Even with everything in ruins, these little men have been trying to find the castle; something about making their mentor a true martyr. Also killing our Queen, but that's a lost cause. I'd know." He pressed his foot down on the chest, and Arianna flinched as a sickening crack followed. The Bloody Crow smiled.

Shirou gripped tighter the handle of his weapons. There was much he didn't understand, but the gist of it stuck. The Church had killed that guy and Arianna's family, and it was both surprising and unsurprising. He wouldn't have thought it, but the same people that made Yharnam what it was were very likely capable of genocide.  
Arianna spoke up. "I've no lost love for our family, but the Executors had coming whatever you do to them."

"Is that so? I think I like you, sister. But they died with their weapons in hand and cursing me, my mother and my non-existant spawn's tainted blood to their last breath. They may have slaughtered my people in a sneak attack when the castle's defenses were low, down to nearly the last woman and child..." He chuckled. "But I like them too. The Church has an ability to raise zealots the Queen has always envied."

Arianna huffed. "Well, it's been a pleasant family reunion, but we must go now, if you'll excuse us. Come on, Shirou," she said, taking Shirou's wrist once again and making to leave. Her hand was cold and shaking.

He tsked. "A shame. If it brings you any comfort, the Queen wouldn't have killed you out of anger, but out of jealousy. You'll know why soon enough." The Bloody Crow's attention shifted to him. "You didn't understand a thing, did you? Well, I won't be the one to ruin a child's innocence. It's been a good night. I ended up finding the Executors without your help, Shirou, but I'm glad we met all the same."

Shirou's instincts screamed. He threw his body in front of Arianna and rose his cleaver. Its steel rang, and a crimson red blade severed the steel in his blade down to half of its extent.

The Bloody Crow smiled down at him, forcing his Chikage down with one arm. "Very good. You shouldn't draw your weapon if you aren't ready to use it, though yours could use some improvement." Shirou's knees buckled as he was pushed harder. He groaned under the impossible strain. "Keep it that way. Don't let your guard down around anyone, be it family or friend...and especially yourself. Your blows are getting very enthusiastic, aren't they?"

In a smooth motion, the sword was detached from the Saw Cleaver. "Everyone has a beast within themselves. You'll be your own worst enemy if you can't tame it."

Like nothing had happened, he left in a carefree pace, blood dripping from a wound that he had inflicted on himself before attacking. A simple bad dream that had overstayed its welcome. Shirou's eyes remained fixed on his weapon, wrecked beyond any use, and his body shivered from the burst of strain.

"With one blow," he muttered. How had it shattered so easily? Even without reinforcement, that had been far worse than he had imagined. He projected a new one under Arianna's curious gaze.

'Don't let my guard down,' he mused. He was being good to his word. That guy wanted him stronger to get a real hunt out of him.

His mistake.

"Are you alright, Shirou?" asked Arianna. "Are you injured?"

"No to both," he said. Energy for a better answer had escaped him.

"Such a horrid man; just like everyone in that place. We must hurry; there may be more beasts prowling the streets." She helped him up.

He threw a glance at her. "What was that about your dress? And the way you look?" he asked.

Arianna smoothed her dress without looking back. "That? He was mocking me for being a whore."

"W-what." Shirou stared at her.

"A whore. A lady of the night," she said. A peculiar grin blossomed on her face. "Are you going to leave me to fend for myself now, young man?"

The dots began connecting in his mind.

"NO! I mean, I-I-you dont," his eyes wide, he blurted out, "I don't mind!"

Grin still plastered on her face, she said, "You don't mind I'm a whore? You're very kind."

"I don't! I-I...you're teasing me," he said. Shirou glared at her. "I'll just shut up now."

She giggled. "I think it's for the best." She caressed his cheek and he flushed. "You don't have to talk, but you're a sweetheart for trying. Just don't get any strange ideas; you're too young."

His traitorous face grew crimson again. "I won't!"

Her joyful expression disappeared as she glanced at the corpses. "I think it's best we leave now. This isn't the place for chatter." Arianna gazed down at the cobblestone floor. "Though I'm curious what he meant about the Queen being jealous of me..."

Shirou grimaced. "Yeah, you're right. And don't pay attention to what that guy says."

In a hurried pace, they continued their way downstairs, leaving the Bloody Crow's victims devoid of any final respects. They had no time. Shirou's eyes darted from place to place, scanning every nook and cranny.

Yet, they went unperturbed. Their only company was the stony idols with lit candles positioned as offerings for them, some of them looking up in reverence or weeping - for what, he didn't know. There were no more beasts; the night had had many hunters out, and for once the onslaught of beasts was beaten back.

They arrived in the courtyard near the chapel's gates, and Arianna questioned why did he block his nose – "The incense makes it itchy", he said. It was an easier answer than a mind-bending horror lurking on the chapel's roof, but she didn't notice it. As he had expected, his talents as a magus were what had allowed him to perceive reality deeper than most.

Entering the chapel, his body sagged. At last, he could rest and sleep a dreamless sleep, knowing for sure he had finally saved someone. His lips tentatively curled up at the thought.

Which was when a familiar figure carefully placed Arabella down from his arms and stormed towards Shirou, seizing the collar of his garb with a grip of steel.

"What the hell happened with my family?" said Henryk, eyes ablaze.

* * *

**Uh...that's a toughie, Henryk. And yeah, he's back after about 30k words. I quite liked his character, so it'll be fun.**

**This arc is drawing near to its climax, and of course, the Bloody Crow will be involved. Hope you guys have been liking him so far. I did notice the more Bloodborne oriented chapters get less replies and attention in general, but hopefully I've been keeping things interesting.**

**And with that said, I'll leave you with a traditional Yharnam goodbye.**

**Please do comment if you liked it or not and why (constructive criticism is always helpful) and BLACK PLAGUE UPON YA!**


	16. Chapter 14

**Sup people. No, this story isn't dead. God didn't take me up on my implied challenge, so I technically win. The best kind of win. Call it an early Christmas miracle.**

**Anyway, I think, on a technical aspect, this chapter beat some of the others by a mile. Let's see what you guys think. I'll also do a quick recap of the last few chapters so you don't feel lost. If you feel like you have an amazing memory (I don't), skip right ahead. I'll start from Gascoigne's death (wait, he dead?)**

**Shirou got some nice PTSD, brought Gascoigne's daughter to the Chapel and finally visited the dream. Gherman was ominous and Shirou was scaroused by everyone's waifu (just kidding, he was mostly freaked out, like any normal person would've been).**

**Then, he met Sakura in the chapel. I'm sure nothing horrible will come out from that front. No siir.**

**In the next, it was a clusterfuck involving everyone's favorite grandpa - Zouken, of course - Kirei and Gil. Kirei got to watch Zouken running with his worms between his legs and Gil treated like a child. It was a great night for the good priest. Probably not for Rin, who might or might not have been looking out her window.**

**Then, Gil explained to Shirou about the Grail War, how Yharnam and Fuyuki were connected, and low-key nudged Shirou into the Epic of Shirou route: "Give'em dirty gods the boot, onii-san! HFY!"**

**Then, Shirou got back to Yharnam, was freaked out by the doll and had a heart to heart with Gherman. Of course, the nice feels were offset by cosmic devil, which sent Shirou running like a headless chicken. And exploding blood. Not sure how that worked, but it did. Then, he met the Bloody Crow, who 'nothing personel'd' him. It was very edgy and cool.**

**Then, Shirou hung out with a hooker and the Bloody Crow made fun out of both of them. Guy's a fucking dick.**

**Oh, and Henryk is back. Apparently he can't leave the house for a week without nearly everyone dying. And he miiiight just think it's Shirou's fault.**

**Here we go!**

-

Oedon Tomb lay in silence, one that wouldn't last.

The dust-ridden field had a secret buried within its soil. A secret Shirou had locked in the well of his mind, entrenched enough so it never would rise to the surface again.

But secrets had a way of unveiling themselves in Yharnam, whether you wanted them to or not.

Henryk's trembling breath expelled shaky clouds of chilly air in the wind. Frozen still and wide-eyed, he stared down at the resting place of his family. The cowl that usually covered the lower half of his face was pulled down, and his face was almost unfamiliar. His true age showed in his sagging skin and wrinkles. His teeth gnashed together with force enough to crush bones to dust.

A mad howl tore apart the silence.

Henryk buried his fist in the nearby tree. Barks of wood burst and flew in the air. He didn't stop.

He pounded on it. Tainted blood pooled in his gloves, but his frenzied attack wouldn't be deterred. The gaunt trunk crumbled under the onslaught. Henryk punished it for nothing more than being the closest living thing.

Shirou watched it, glassy-eyed.

The visage was familiar, down to the last details. A hunter forced into insanity, lashing out with the savagery of his sworn enemy.

"Beasts all over the shop...you'll be one of them, sooner or later."

His screams were of a kind Shirou had never heard in Yharnam.

He knew the screams of beasts. He had felt them up close; maddened howls rippling down into his ears, turning his legs weak. He knew the screams of the dying citizens; a sorrowful curse at an unfair world. Both carried an unnatural weight. One that emanated from Yharnam and the prowling predators that stalked its streets.

That weight made his thoughts hazy, stretching thin what made Shirou himself. In the chaos of the Hunt and the sickening old blood, memories of simpler times slipped away. In their place, he reveled in the blood and in the rushes of pure life that came with slaying beasts. All to take their strength for himself; all for his crusade. As if this world had sunk its claws into him.

It was a hollow weight, of things that were lacking. The blood had drowned reason, compassion, and their humanity. The Yharnamites were infected, and time marched against them.

But Henryk's screams weren't like that. As someone who had mourned the death of a person close to him, Shirou knew all too well grief when he saw it.

Guilt, too.

The blows that echoed in the ethereal land drew to a halt. Henryk pulled air in through his teeth, hissing like a beast in pain.

He turned to Shirou, hunched forward and panting.

Shirou took in everything. The rapid rise and fall of his chest. The coiling muscles of his arms about to spring. The way Henryk focused on nothing but him, with his hands drifting close to his weapons.

And Henryk's mushy pupils, afflicted by the onset of the scourge. Both dilated, as if a tumor had encroached into the dark pits, contaminating all it touched.

A steely wind blew away the fog in his mind. His thoughts coalesced into a shape, a brittle but hard one. Clarity he had only felt once cleansed his doubts and fears.

It had been right here, among the tombstones, grave dirt and under the approving gaze of the Moon.

Emiya Shirou turned his mind into steel.

Henryk bared his teeth at him. "What did you do?"

"I killed Gascoigne."

That had been it. The secret Shirou had locked within his mind, laid bare for the man he had made a promise. His failure to protect Henryk's family, which had welcomed him when no one else in Yharnam would.

Before, the simple threat of its emergence was enough to break him. To decimate the self he had built after the fire.

His admiration for Kiritsugu and the wish to never see someone cry in front of him again. Those had been the building blocks. All he had ever wanted was to be a hero of justice and fulfill his promise to his father.

Kiritsugu had never told him what it meant to be a hero of justice, but Yharnam was a strict teacher. It swiftly set boundaries he had yet to overcome.

Gascoigne had been the first of many that would come.

Mercy should be shared with all that needed it. Until he found a cure, it was all he could do.

Henryk sucked in a sharp breath. His fists shook, and the handle of his weapon creaked as he took hold of it.

"What about my daughter?"

"Gascoigne killed her. She left without telling me, and I didn't get here fast enough. I buried her with him." A fleeting impression floated in his mind. "I thought she wouldn't mind."

That had been his thought process. The feeling that had guided his actions felt alien, as if born from a different person.

"Gascoigne wouldn't have killed her. He loved my daughter."

A figure caught his fleeting gaze, lying deathly, locks of blonde hair tight in a bun. A beautiful red brooch ornamented her dress.

Gascoigne had left great destruction in his wake. Trees ripped off their roots. Chunks of the sturdiest stone in Yharnam obliterated. A population's worth of beasts' corpses made victims by his ax. Viola had the only wound that didn't seem like the work of a mad butcher. A clean one, like when he had lashed out at the air as the Music Box chimed its sorrowful notes.

But Viola hadn't been a hunter. A single cut had been more than enough, and wishful thinking couldn't change reality.

"He got worse. He was out hunting by the time I got back, and Viola forgot the Music Box. I found him, but he disappeared after we killed a Cleric Beast. I was unconscious, so I didn't follow him. The blood of that beast was the final push. He became mad."

"Bullshit!"

Shirou went deathly still. "Calm down Henryk."

Henryk laughed. It was a haunting sound that would make the corpses lying in the graves below shudder. "You'd like that, wouldn't you? Drop our weapons and have a nice chat like old times?" He threw his cleaver and gun to his sides. "Fine by me. Let's chat."

Shirou followed Henryk with his gaze as he circled around him.

"So, how did you do it? Gascoigne wouldn't bite it without a fight, and I know for a fact you couldn't tell your ass from your elbow when you got here. How does a kid with a couple of months' worth of experience kill one of the best hunters in this hellhole of a city?"

"I have other skills. They made up for the difference."

"Right, right. Your runes and..." He chuckled. "your magic. Unless you can also magically become ten times the hunter you are, I'm still not buying it."

"I don't know how I could convince you."

Henryk smirked. "I can think of a way, but I have a better idea. Why don't you tell me who helped you?"

Shirou frowned. "No one helped me. I did it alone."

"Come on, lad. It'll really help smooth things over between us. You're just a kid; you couldn't have killed him by yourself. Maybe someone tricked you. The nicest kid in the whole, wide Yharnam... you wouldn't get it in your head to kill the guy who received you in his family like a son without a good reason. Unless you got a taste for the sweet old blood...?"

"I didn't." That was a lie, but the truth would only escalate this situation to something he didn't want. "And I told you. I killed Gascoigne myself; no one helped."

Henryk sighed. The tired action contrasted with the feral glint in his eyes as he stomped forward. "Guess we're going with the first option. Show me how you did it, then." His hand reached inside his garb, and his voice dropped an octave. "I might just teach you something new for old time's sake. Try to last a while, yeah?"

"That's enough!" A yell reverberated in the tomb from up above.

Shirou's eyes flew from Henryk to the blur that descended from the skies. Dark wings dove in their direction as if to attack them. But, a familiar figure landed in front of Henryk. Her black cape, reminiscent of wings, flapped from its flight. The beaked mask was pointed to Henryk, who stared back rigidly.

Henryk's tense shoulders loosened. "I've seen that before. Death coming from the sky...I wouldn't have known it until my head was rolling on the ground." He snorted. "If you're not here to kill me, then fuck off, Eileen. This is none of your business."

"You should know by now it's always my business when a hunter starts acting deranged, Henryk." Her wizened voice had a hint of steel to it.

Shirou's fists tightened. Henryk had been about to attack him. Without the Crow's interference, this would've come to blows already.

"Heh, deranged? I'm pretty sure I have the moral high ground for once. Some debts can only be paid in blood, Crow. You should know by now."

"Hunters hunt beasts. You're off the mark with your frustration," she said. "He's a boy. A boy you took under your wing and taught him our ways. Look into your conscience; would he be capable of killing Gascoigne without a good reason?"

Henryk chortled. "Oh, I'm sorry, I should be thanking him instead. Maybe wrap up my granddaughter and hand her over for his _protection._ I'm sure everything will work out fine." He gazed at the overturned soil of their graves, and his jaw tensed. "Yeah, what a great fucking idea."

"Gascoigne went mad, Henryk." She looked at Shirou. "I warned you, both of you."

Henryk's hand clasped his forehead. "Ain't that convenient? You want him dead, and now look at where we are. And right when I was out of town," he mused. "A man gotta wonder. Did you pay Gascoigne one of your visits by any chance, Crow?"

"As a matter of fact, I wanted to. Emiya Shirou was very insistent that he wouldn't allow me. He was trying to protect Gascoigne, of course, but the entire situation was bound to end exactly how it did. It was only a matter of whose hands his life would be taken." The beak shook back and fro. "And I truly wish it had been mine."

Shirou glared at her. "No, it had to be me. I owed him it."

Henryk sputtered. "You owed him that? What kind of fucked up logic is that? You're talking like you did him a fucking favor."

"He thanked me," said Shirou.

Henryk's eyes widened.

The silence that hung over the tomb and its residents returned as if it had never left. From the beginning, this wasn't a place for the living, not even family and friends that mourned those who were gone. A peculiar madness clung to Oedon's tomb, driving them all away.

After all, before being a graveyard, it was a shrine dedicated to something they couldn't comprehend. Shirou realized it now. The black monolith erected at the very center of the tomb was the proof he needed.

The Moon wasn't the only thing lurking, watching.

Static consumed his vision for a second. The steel in sizzled, melted by unnatural flames. Invisible tendrils penetrated through the ruined barrier, twisting and churning his mind.

O̵̡̪̺̘̞͍͚͈̦̖̤̬͓̥̤͗͛̈̌͂̀͂̚p̷͖̮̗͇̀e̸̳͊̅͂̽̿̋̀͋̈́̌̈́̓̒̓͠n̵̨̢͍͉̱͔̬̪̺͔͉̮̥̾̉̊̌͂̀̂̚ ̸͈̬̻͚̙̞͔̅̊̽̋̃͗̽̍͐̑͋̈́̈͝͠y̴̬̮̯͚̘̭͓̥̤̔̊̒͆͊̑̏̑͌̚̚͘̕͝͠ó̴̥ů̶̲̱̻̲̯̪̱͖̲̙͔͂̒̃̑́͜ͅṙ̶̨̛̺͖͔̫̥̜̳̰̹̖̝͖͎̇́̈́͛̋̊̏̇̓͂͘̚ͅ ̸̡̛̛͖̰̳͔̖̣̭͓̎̀͌̀̓͌̉̇͊͘͘͝e̸̗͔̻̊̓̌̍̾̀̊̈́̾͆̂̒̑͑̕y̵̤͊̈́͌̓ȩ̴͖̹̯͚̯͖͖̺̘̰͉̖͍͕̈́̏̃͐̇͗͠s̴̡̢̛͖̰͖͙̭̞͔̣̩̙̮̰̟̍̊̆͒

Did they hear it too? To the right, to the left, above and below.

Everywhere.

"I don't believe you," Henryk cut through the silence. "He wouldn't do it. Not Gascoigne."

Shirou gripped tight his temples as clarity came back.

'What was that?'

Eileen huffed. The beak of her mask now pointed at Shirou. "None ever do. It is as I told you, Emiya Shirou. Loved ones always have a technique, some kind of trick to bring those like Gascoigne back from madness. It always works...until it doesn't. That's why they're usually the first to die."

Henryk gritted his teeth. "If you're trying to stop me from killing the both of you, you're doing a shitty job at it, Eileen."

"I don't need to stop you from anything. I only need to ask this." Her tone was barbed. "Where were you?"

Henryk froze. "...what?" His fists uncoiled, as if disarmed.

"Where were you?" she prodded. "Why were Gascoigne and your daughter, who has no training of her own, alone by themselves? Why was a boy with no real experience watching over your family? Why weren't you with them?"

"I was doing something important," he said.

"As was I, and that boy. But what was so important that made you abandon them when they needed you the most?"

Henryk looked down, breath shaky. "I wanted to help them," he growled.

"Then why did I find you, broken and bleeding, no blood vials left, walking to your death? Surely you weren't looking for help in Yahar'gul's prisons."

'What?' thought Shirou.

"I got kidnapped," he bit out. "If I hadn't-"

"Then you would have failed at finding that place," said the Crow. "The Church sealed every entrance for a reason, Henryk. There's a very real chance of making everything worse if we muck things up there. If our problems had an easy solution, we would've found it."

'Are they talking about Byrgenwerth?'

It was where Henryk had intended to find and where Shirou would've followed him. The only place in the world there might be answers.

'But he got kidnapped,' thought Shirou. Had it been one of the giant men that almost found him and Arianna?

"I know that," shouted Henryk. His voice broke. "I know that, dammit. But I had to try..."

She crossed her arms. "The boy did what was right, Henryk. He saved him. Gascoigne was a good man; imagine what the truth of his actions would've done to him."

_Flesh had burst as if Gascoigne had merely been a convenient skin, a garb to be shredded as it revealed its true form._

Shirou didn't have to imagine it. He had seen it. The moment Gascoigne had crumbled under the weight of his sins.

Shirou locked gazes with Henryk. "It was mercy, Henryk. It was all anyone could do, and I'm glad it was me instead of you. I would've traded places with him if I could, but he wasn't well even before you left. I'm sorry I couldn't protect your family." His features grew tight. "I made you a promise."

Henryk said nothing.

Shirou breathed. "And I'm sorry it was Viola and not me. I can't take that back, but I won't regret what I did to Gascoigne. I needed to do it. He was relieved. He thanked me."

Even if there was no true salvation on sight, surely there was meaning to ending that madness. Saving everyone from beasts, saving beasts from themselves.

_"Th-thank y-y-yoouu Shiii...rou..."_

It had been the right choice. He knew it.

Henryk closed his eyes. "Calling murder mercy...what, are you the mini-crow now? Want her place for yourself?" His tone grew hollow as he looked at Shirou. "Both me and Gascoigne knew something wasn't right about you. The way you were dressed when we found you, how you disappeared for hours on end every night and that magic of yours. Even so, I trusted you. You were nice to everyone. The Yharnamites, the hunters, hell, even the beggars. You'd talk to them, defend them from beasts even when they mocked you for it and help around with the nastiest work around the city. I thought you'd stop your disappearing acts and stay to help." He snorted. "Guess I should've known better. That's on me."

Shirou looked down. "It wasn't something I could control at the time. I almost got him..."

Eileen interrupted. "Go be with your granddaughter, Henryk. She needs to see you. You're all she has left," she said.

Henryk stared at her, all emotion drained from his face. That empty, hollow gaze – Shirou had seen it before in a face much younger.

'He looks like Sakura.'

The old hunter twisted on his heel and left, looking back one last time before going upstairs. His steps echoed heavily in the air, and Shirou felt himself lighter when he got out of sight.

"That was dangerous," said Shirou. "He could've exploded."

"Maybe," she said, "but I happen to have a good eye for the scourge. He's not there, not quite yet."

Shirou sighed. "I guess you were right again. Sorry for the trouble."

"It's not pleasant work, but it has to be done." The beak shifted languidly as she sized him up. "I see you've grown strong. Good, good. How is the little Doll doing? She must have had a hand on it."

_"If you become a beast, you'll be my prey, no matter how many times I have to hunt you."_

Those had been her last words to him when they met on that bridge. And her comment about a Doll could only mean one thing.

"You know about the dream?"

She laughed through her nose. "I and many more hunters. I just happen to remember it better than most."

Shirou's lips pressed together. "I don't think I could ever forget the dream."

"You will. Such is the nature of dreams. It's better this way, easier on our conscience," she trailed off. "And you haven't answered my question."

"She is well." He stopped and rubbed his jaw. "I think? She's not exactly easy to read."

"True enough, I suppose." Steel suffused her voice once again. "Be nice to her, you hear me? She's the only one in these forsaken worlds that would never lift a finger against you, not even to defend herself," she finished somberly.

Shirou swallowed. "I'll try."

"See that you do. I'll take my leave now. This night...there's something about it different than the others. We've reached a critical point. There's much work to be done." She assessed him. "For both of us."

A thought sparked in his mind. "Wait. Can I ask you something?"

She nodded. "Go ahead."

"Do you think-" He paused.

The answer to his question didn't matter – his path was already set. Even so, the Crow was bound to know something he didn't, have some insight on the matter.

"Do you think Yharnam can be saved?" he asked.

Her arms crossed, she tapped her bracers. "You aren't the first to ask yourself that question. I told you when we first met that you would experience the horrors of the hunt deeper than anyone else. If there's a cure, a solution, it surely lies at the end of your journey."

"You're talking about the dream," he said.

"Yes. Through its resources and your hunts, you'll grow stronger and pry into Yharnam's secrets as you go. But, as I said, you aren't the first one to look for a solution. There are many graves in the dream, one with my name engraved on it, I bet." She uncrossed her arms. "The corpses there were as invincible as you. Death cannot take us until we either fulfill our purpose or grow too weak for it. So far, we all failed."

The endless fields of graves somehow seemed even larger now. "I won't," he said.

He wouldn't allow himself to.

She hummed. "We'll see about that. Anything else?"

"Actually, yeah. There's a guy with the same cape you're wearing killing Executors in Cathedral Ward. He said he was a hunter of hunters. Do you-" Shirou stopped.

The Crow was shaking with barely restrained fury.

"He said that, hm? Thank you for that, Emiya Shirou. I was looking for that thing for a long time. It proves that there's something about this night, if nothing else. All the pieces falling into place..."

She turned to him. "Stay away from him and don't, under any circumstance, reveal that you dream."

"Why?"

"You are undying. So long as your heart remains strong, the entire world is your prey. You'll always come back, stronger and stronger. He could never accept it – being someone's prey." She chuckled darkly. "Rejoice. Had he recognized what you are, we wouldn't be having this conversation."

Shirou jutted his chin up. "He can't kill me. I can fight him if I have to."

"And what makes you think he would kill you? He can do much, much worse. Avoid him if you know what's good for you." She turned sharply and stomped away, not sparing him a single glance.

Shirou stood alone – or so it seemed – in the tomb, once again drowned by an unnatural silence.

He followed the path made by the old hunters, a different person than when he came in.

His mind was now steel. He didn't have time for half-measures anymore. Before getting started, though, he had to go to Fuyuki.

One last time.

-

**We're approaching the end of this arc. Next chapter will be set in Fuyuki, as I'm sure some of you guys prefer it. It'll actually set the stage for Arc 3, in which the main antagonist will be Shinji. True story.**

**And it'll be Shirou's fault. Also true story. My boy can't get a break.**


	17. Omake

**Sup people. Have some pretty good news all around.**

**I decided to get off my ass and finally run some editing. Besides being horrified by my excessive adverbs, and for some reason, the word 'just', I'm pretty satisfied. 70k words, give or take a couple thousand, wasn't easy.**

**So, If you feel up for a reread, it's a better time than ever.**

**Now, those of you following this fic on spacebattles may have read this. It's a series of very serious (heh) omakes I've been writing. Since I hadn't published them in before, I thought I might as well celebrate the editing with this.**

**I'm sorry for what you're about to read.**

* * *

In all of his regrettably long life, Gherman had seen many things.

He had seen the dawn of a new, horrible age where gods descend from the cosmos and mingled with humanity. He had been the first to see the need for hunters. Heroes that would contain the Scourge and offer mercy to those ailed by the horrible sickness. He had seen Maria perform a visceral attack up a giant pig's hindquarters, and been traumatized by it along with his other students.

But none of them baffled him nearly as much as the new hunter to make this horrid place his home. It wasn't that he was especially brave. Gherman had seen many brave men come and go, nor that he was especially skilled - he wasn't even close to an old hunter's skill. It wasn't even his questionable sanity – all of them had a screw loose to begin with.

No, the true mystery was...

The Doll, who had been speaking with Emiya Shirou gave a small curtsey and bid her goodbye to the young hunter. Her cheeks were prettily flushed and she watched he go with an alien, forlorn look.

How could a child barely out of his diapers attract the attention of so many maidens? And the Doll shouldn't even be capable of feeling romantic love!

Gherman glared at his pile of signed copies of 'How to pick up fair maidens', hoping to convey the weight of the betrayal he felt.

"You lied to me..." he rasped.

Laurence had said the book was, in his words, 'a pile of unadulterated rubbish'. Bah, what did Laurence know, he had thought. The man would have picked labs full of blood-filled vials over any woman. Also multiple-eyed brains in jars and sacrificial cults dedicated to his person.

Laurence had been a strange man.

Suddenly, wind picked up, agitated by something. Gherman looked at the sky, and the always clear view of the moon was blotted out by what looked like a golden saucer with wings.

Gherman observed it with eyes that had seen many strange things. He didn't even blink when a blond, red-eyed boy jumped out of it as it landed.

"Hello!" The child waved.

"Goodnight. How are you doing, young man?" he greeted back.

The child beamed. "I'm great, thank you!" He looked around. "My, onii-san wasn't joking about the graves. No wonder he asked me to lend a hand – something about thrashy, self-help books. Who could enjoy life surrounded by death and self-help books?"

"Oh, so the good hunter brought you here? How curious."

This event was steadily climbing up his list of most strange encounters, but he didn't show it. Only the most baffling, mind-bending occasions deserved a spot.

"He did. Onii-san said you needed help in your courting skills, so I, King Gilgamesh, shall be your teacher! Hohohoho!"

"King Gilgamesh," repeated Gherman, rubbing his jaw in thought. "I'm terribly sorry young man, but I've never heard of you."

Gil's stricken face reminded him of when he had told Ludwig that no, swords didn't talk back when you said something at them.

The boy's voice trembled. "I-it's okay, it's completely normal that you didn't hear of a King from a different world. I'm not bothered," he said, before turning around and rubbing his eyes with his sleeve.

Gherman hummed. A child that came from space in a flying golden saucer with wings. Then, broke into the impregnable Hunter's Dream and had done it all to teach Gherman how to pick up fair maidens?

"I suppose this is a bit stranger than Adrian," he mused.

Ah, Adrian. One of his best hunters, deserving of every mercy since life had punished him enough. Trudging through the hunt with his broccoli head and feet of a beast.

Djura had told him he had settled down with a gentle, lovely woman. Good for him.

"Indeed, I shall apply your _teachings_ with all of the two people I can interact with," said Gherman.

Gil scratched his jaw. "What's wrong miss Doll? She seems very fond of you."

"She is a doll," said Gherman, flatly. "She has ball-jointed hands and is made of wax and porcelain."

"But she is a very pretty doll."

Gherman sighed. This child was interrupting his nightly routine of napping, contemplation and regretting his life choices. It was very carefully maintained and he had never dealt well with surprises.

He would have to go for the metaphorical throat.

"Oh well, in that case maybe young Shirou will have enough space in his heart for a poor, lonely old man." He crowned it with his most decrepit, twisted laugh, that would make mothers hide their children behind their skirts and people whisper about 'the perverted old coot'.

Gil looked at him skeptically. "Isn't onii-san's harem a bit too crowded already? You wouldn't get enough attention. That isn't good for a healthy relationship."

Gherman stared at the child.

Gil stared back.

He sagged in his wheelchair. His new opponent was formidable. "You haven't the slightest clue, child."

Gherman looked back at the house. Whenever young Shirou was lingering about in the Dream, unbeknownst to him, another suitor peeked from behind the Dream's workshop. It huddled behind the house whenever Shirou looked at its direction, staring at him with a lovestruck...hole and tentacles squirming with excitement.

Once, Maria told him she had been 'beating suitors off with a stick'. Bragged about it, more like.

In Shirou's case, a stick wouldn't do. He hoped his apprentice had enough swords at his disposal. Many swords. All the swords.

Gherman sighed. He felt he would be doing that many times with this child here. "Very well. I'll accept your tutelage. In exchange, embarrass young Shirou a bit for me, will you?" That would teach the little brat to not play pranks on his elders.

"Can do! We have a deal, mister Gherman." Gil jutted a thumb at his chest. "I'm gonna teach you how to live!"

Gherman groaned.

It seemed he was in for another long, long night.

* * *

In all of his regrettably long life, Gherman had been rejected many, many times.

He had been rejected by women of all sizes, social class and personalities. He had been rejected by a particularly curvy tree in his lonelier moments in the Dream. He was rejected even in his dreams, because even in the safest, most hopeful parts of his subconscious, he could not imagine what success looked like.

But this time, things were different. He tipped his hat to the young lady that had given her time of day to a decrepit old man like him and had meant it. This seedy bar wasn't exactly the ideal place to pick up fair maidens, but decades away from society had hurt his finances a bit. She left him with a smile full of teeth and a promise to be back right away.

Somehow, it seemed success was finally in his grasp.

Gherman smiled. "It seems your advice worked very well, young man. That went far better than I expected considering how rusty I am," he said, looking at the most extraordinary child sitting in the table next to his. Gil had a glass with a sticker written 'Foreign Brat' glued to it, and the water inside had an ill, yellow color to it.

Gil watched him with lifeless eyes that had been drained of every last bit of hope. "Mister Gherman, are you one-hundred percent sure of that?"

"But of course! I am a very perceptive man, and the results spoke for themselves."

Gil threw his arms up. "Then you're one hundred percent wrong!"

Gherman gasped. "Surely not!"

"I'll walk you through your many, many failures. Firstly, you asked her, and I quote, 'how old is your name, m'lady'?"

Gherman tugged at his collar. "I admit it wasn't the most stellar opening."

"Indeed. Then you asked, and I quote, 'what are your thoughts on sacrificial cults'?"

"You told me to talk about what I was comfortable with!"

"How are you comfortable with sacrificial cults?"

"Well...I know a lot about them, is all. Laurence wouldn't shut up about how great were group sacrifices to one's self-esteem. I ended up learning a lot through sheer exposition, so it felt easy to talk about it." Gherman glared at him. "You said it would be easier if I talked about something I was knowledgeable about!"

_"Nothing boosts your ego like dozens of people stabbing themselves __just__ because you said it was a good idea__. Nothing like it in the world, Gherman."_

Yharnam was Laurence's brainchild through and through. Gherman was sure there were actual brain-children running about somewhere.

He rubbed his stubble of a beard. "In hindsight, perhaps it wasn't the best subject for a first rendezvous." He let out a decrepit chuckle.

Gil pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'll give you that, mister Gherman. I had never seen someone more hopeless in the art of seduction than you. This'll be a challenge worthy of a king." He turned and mumbled something like 'you owe me big time, onii-san'.

Gherman's head dipped down. Even in his prime, Gherman hadn't been what one would call 'a player'. He and Ludvig had often bonded over shared misery when it came to fair maidens. They bemoaned the fact that no woman would give them the time of the day. Ludvig would cry and always say that, in his words, 'no woman ever gave him the friendship of her thighs'.

Yes, even for Gherman's standards, his old friend had been a bit of a loser. He hadn't minded because there was no friend more reliable and kind-hearted than him. Their times horsing around were some of Gherman's fondest memories.

That and the fact that Gherman looked comparatively cool when beside him hadn't hurt either.

"But she seemed to be enjoying herself." He clung to his defense like a lifeline. "She laughed at my jokes, smiled and she threw her hair back twice every minute. My book said that is a sure sign of a successfully picked up maiden!"

"Remind me to set fire on that book, will you? And all the copies too, don't try to hide them from me!" Gil shook his head. "That thing is a public menace." Gil looked at the direction the woman had left to. "And you do realize that woman was a lady of the night, don't you mister Gherman?"

Gherman laughed. "Surely not. She seemed like an upstanding, decent woman of good birth and character."

"Yes." Gil squinted at the entrance of the ladies' toilet, as if seeing through the walls. "And I think she just jumped through a window and ran off. She was scared you would take her to a dark corner and give her as an offering to an evil god. And, I'll say. It's very strange to use my infinitely powerful Clairvoyance to peek inside the ladies' bathroom."

A sob escaped Gherman's throat.

She wasn't his first runner.

"Don't worry, she wasn't a nice person either." Gil squinted harder, peering deeper into the universe's secrets. "She was planning to..." He facepalmed. "Drain your blood out of your body." Squint. "And sell it to the highest bidder because there's a market for old old blood." Squint and a grimace. "And she thought it would be easy because she could just outrun you since you're... in a wheelchair..."

Gil gave a long sigh and looked at the heavens. "You Yharnamites are awful!" he cried.

"Yer awful!" a Yharnamite screamed from another table. His friends cackled.

"Stupid foreigner kid! Drink yer piss!" another yelled. The whole bar joined the fun, cackling and booing.

Gil's eyes twitched. "You all are making me feel genocidal. You don't want me being genocidal. Don't test me, I _will_ do it."

The laughter ceased.

"Please take me away, Gil. There's only so much failure an old man can take," whimpered Gherman.

"Okay." Gil went behind the wheelchair and pushed Gherman outside the seedy bar. Gil threw back an evil eye when a Yharnamite made to throw an old apple at him on the back.

Awful, all of them.

High-up in the outside, clinging on the walls like a demonic spider, a creature watched them go.

"What is that thing mister Gherman? It's horrid."

"That, my young friend, is an Amygdala." Gherman sighed. "It is one of the first Great Ones to invade our land, sponsored by Laurence, of course. They are the patron deities of Yharnam and exist for the sole purpose of bringing misery wherever they go."

Gil's lips pressed into a thin line. "And you Yharnamites couldn't do anything about it?"

"No. They are too powerful. They cling to our buildings and prey on unsuspecting victims, bringing an early end to innocent lives. Their very presence twists the world into a darker place. They are the symbol of Yharnam's corruption."

"That is awful, mister Gherman," he said with sympathetic eyes.

"Indeed. I myself have been terrified by them many times. Only after years of experience could I stand in front of them and not shake like a leaf. Most of my students couldn't say the same; their hearts stopped at the mere sight of it."

Gil patted Gherman's arm. "You are strong, mister Gherman. There was never any doubt on my part."

"Thank you. And when you get strong enough to not tremble in your boots in their presence, and can finally gather your wits, you begin to wonder...what would they taste like?"

"Yes, I can see wh- wait, what?"

Gherman frowned, staring at the Amygdala. "The meat. It looks positively delicious."

"No, it doesn't! It's- it's hairy and bony and that creature reeks of evil. It's an evil alien!"

"And what does evil taste like, Gil? I bet no man has ever tried it. Decades locked in that horrid dream, away from everything, made me ponder. Wonder. Many, many times, I would ask myself: 'what does it taste like?' I must try it if I ever have the chance. And now, destiny has arrived. Or should I say..." He licked his lips. "I have."

"No! No! Absolutely not! Bad mister Gherman!" Gil squeaked.

Gherman sagged in his wheelchair. "Ah, I suppose it is a distant dream. An old man like myself should let go of pointless whims such as these." He sniffed. "It is not as if I was locked inside of the dream with no sustenance to eat other than the corpses of hunters that were released from the dream."

Gil sighed. "If I bring you the meat, will you stop telling me details of your backstory and throw the books away?"

Gherman immediately perked up. "Of course! Oh, thank you, dear child. Thank you."

Gil took a deep breath and rolled up his sleeves. The Amygdala locked gazes with him. A Noble Phantasm came from a golden gate. A cleaver owned by Gil's personal, legendary cook along with a white mask. Last but not least, a golden apron with 'kiss the king' inscribed on it surged.

The creature that was fear given form began scuttling away.

Ṕ̵̫͕̅̐̈́͝L̵̡̘̠͔̦͖̦̪͙̦̝͔͈͐͗͊̏ͅͅȨ̶̛̹̞͎̫͉̾̽͑̈́͌͊̀͘A̴̙̪̓̑̓̃̽̎͜ͅŚ̴̫̭̼̏́͗̄͊̂̐̉̋̋̋͆̔͝Ḙ̶̠̘̞͖̤̰͑̏̏̍̇͌̍͋̓̇̃̿͊̕͝ ̶̨̟̬̯̪̞͖͚̜̩̖̀̏͒̑͌͘Ņ̵̈̓̀̀̉̾̀̈̓̀̑̀̔͘O̸̻̚͝

"I'm sorry miss Amygdala. Just a leg will do," he said, cleaver gleaming a wicked gold.

Fear given form took off with an alien squeak. Gil followed, swinging his cleaver in the air.

N̶̡̠͇̼͎̯̓̈̈́̽̐̍̂̓Ò̵͖̣̗̱̎̋̄̅̿͐̉͝ ̷̘͚͔͆͆͌̏̓̏͂́͛̿̇̅̕ͅG̶̩͚̳̾̐́Ĩ̶̢̧̙̘͔̖͙̞̻̒̉́̒̋̀̾͋̚̕͠͝͝L̵̛̺̮͎͖̲͓͙̭̇̿̓̓͊́̑̔̓̑̕͜͝͠-̷̨̨̧̙̠̝̞̖̹͈͔̩̤̱̬͛̀͋̓̂̕̕̕̕͝D̶̠̗̰̖͍̤̊́̓̎̓̿̓̚͜Ö̸̢͙̜̹̥̼͚̭̠̩͓́̎͂́̋̋̌̀̌̕N̸͕̦̜̪͎̓̐͑̈̂́̏̑́͒̚O̷̡̲̘̫̳̮̟͍̱͙͉̘̰̠̞̊̄̃̇̀̋̌̂̉̍̅̑͛͝ ̸͓̂̓̔͆̔̑͗̇̉̎̚͝ͅY̶̺͍͈͂́̆͛̅̏̏̆͗͛̚͘̚͝A̴̳̦͕̣̠͖̬͛̀̃͂̍͒̚ͅM̴̧̺̟̪͉̺̭̰͉͉̆̍̇̃̚̚͝Ḙ̵̡̡̠̻̰̠͍̭̜͊̑̽Ţ̴̨̧̼̠̼̮͔̗̳̅̈͜͜ͅË̵̳͉̣͉͖̩̲̓̍͊̑

"Just a leg! Come on, you have plenty to spare!"

Minutes later, Gil came back. A jagged, hairy leg of about ten times his size was slung on his shoulder like an over-sized sack of potatoes. Gherman's eyes shone with pure, childish glee.

And minutes later, it was sizzling on Gil's kingly grill. An alien goop drooped from it, and he told Gherman he would never use it again.

When Gil's Clairvoyance told it was done – it was very versatile, indeed – the child handed over the unholy smelling meat to him. It smelled as if someone had thrown every putrid, rotten and disgusting material in the world and mixed it in an industrial blender.

Gherman took a bite.

"How does it taste?" asked Gil, almost afraid to ask.

Gherman smacked his lips and smiled. "Otherworldly."

Gil groaned while Gherman's body at long last relaxed, a weight being relieved from his chest.

He had been holding onto that one for three decades.

* * *

**I LIED. I'M NOT SORRY AT ALL. **

**In a way, these chapters are to escape some of the story's doom and gloom.**

**_looks at outline_**

**And there's a lot of doom and gloom coming, indeed.**

**Oh, and I'm 1k words in for the next chapter. It'll be set mostly in Fuyuki and overflowing with foreshadowing for the next arc. Counting this one, only three chapters left for the third arc to begin.**

**Shirou will meet his waifu Kirei-chan and his coach Gil. Truly, the dream team.**

**The second arc has been a blast to write, but like the first one, I think it'll shine the most in the end.**


	18. Chapter 15

**Shit guys, I'm so sorry. I had promised this way back but lately I've been lacking the energy to write. I think now that I got the ball rolling I'll be able to churn them out more efficiently.**

**The original, outlined chapter would clock around 7k words, so I decided to split it. Hope you guys like it anyway.**

**Here we go!**

* * *

**Chapter 15**

Shirou walked through the chapel's flooded basement, boots splashing filthy water. At the other end of it, he climbed up the ladder that led to the reading room. The uneven, wooden tiles were marked by two sets of footprints - Henryk and the Crow's. The wood creaked louder as he stepped on the spots Henryk had.

He looked around. The books and trinkets were, somehow, in greater disarray than before. Blank pages were strewn about, the globes that adorned the mahogany desks broken to pieces and the walls had newly-formed dents on them. It was as if a pack of beasts had rampaged inside its walls.

Or a furious hunter.

Shirou pursed his lips, resolving to clean up this mess later. This room was one of the few entertainments Arabella and the rest had left. He bent down and picked a nondescript book, with handwritten notes in its pages yellowed by age. Pictures of beasts, muscles drawn and about to pounce were depicted on its pages. A particular picture of a wolf, salivating through its fangs and claws swiping ahead, was eerily realistic.

He put it back on the desk beside him, exhaling slowly. Perhaps entertainment wasn't the right word for it. Once, this had been a safe haven for hunters and those who worked for the church, like Gascoigne had. There should be more diaries on these shelves, depicting Yharnam's grim reality.

He wasn't interested in history lessons, but they could offer valuable information. Other church bases, where to find materials for his weapons, or even the underground labyrinths he had heard rumors about.

Shirou glanced back, as if he could see through the walls, at the tomb. And, if he had any luck, information about the monsters that haunted this world.

And for once, he wasn't thinking of the beasts.

His feet took him away from the room and into the set of winding stairs that led to the grand hall. The doors were open, and at a distance, he could see the dweller, Sakura, Arabella and Arianna. Henryk and the Crow were nowhere to be seen.

He nodded to the dweller, who offered him a quick greeting, and Arianna met him with a sardonic smile. "I see that you're alive and well. For a minute I expected the worse," she said, sitting in an uncomfortable-looking chair. Her hands were placed daintly on her lap, but the way she grabbed the fabric of her dress betrayed her tension.

Shirou rubbed the back of his head. "Do you always expect the worst? We just argued a bit; nothing happened. We're all friends."

He hoped so. Henryk's mad eyes and the Crow's cold fury as she stormed away were engraved in his memory. The way they all had departed was anything but friendly.

"I see," she said in a dubious tone. "If nothing else, I'm in good company, isn't that right, girls?"

Sakura nodded and said nothing, as usual. She sat silent as a grave in the corner, but her attention was trained on Arabella. Shirou's eyebrows rose a bit. Getting a read on Sakura was hard, but the way she looked at her was attentive. Worried. Despite himself, the corners of his lips quirked up.

He looked at the little girl. Arabella was up and alert, tiny fists drawn to her chest, clenched tight and staring at the front gate. She twirled to look at him, grey eyes watering. He instantly approached her.

"Did you and grandpa fight, Shirou?" she whispered.

He hunkered down low to her height. "Nope. Nothing like that. Henryk and me were discussing where would we go hunting next. Sometimes he gets a little mad because I don't do things like he tells me to."

And Henryk used to. Back when he and Gascoigne were training him, and he would charge at the beasts instead of fleeing and forget to keep his guard up in the streets.

It was strange to think of old, happier times when those times were slaying beasts and running for his life. Yet, when they got tired and the work was done, the three of them would chat, exchange stories and laugh. Back then, Gascoigne and Viola were alive, and Henryk had a family to go back to.

It hadn't been perfect, but it had been a small, warm share of happiness.

What was left of that family scrutinized him, determining if he was lying. Not long ago, she would've taken his word to heart, no questions asked. His nostrils flared. Old anger at himself rose again.

"Okay," she said. "He went that way." She pointed to the front gate and sat on the floor, leaning on the brick wall. She wrapped her arms around her chest as if closing herself to the world.

He plastered a smile on his face and ruffled her hair. It felt hollow, like he was a machine following its programming. "Thanks."

It didn't seem like she believed him, and weariness weighed on him. This night had been tiring.

He set out to the gate - thankfully, the one far away from the invisible demon that hung on the chapel's roof'. From its gaze, at least.

Outside, Henryk sat on one of the banks in the street. It was surrounded, on all sides, by Yharnam's grey stone idols, illuminated by the faint light of a lamppost. The weeping statues didn't seem to bother the old hunter, whose eyes focused on the far-away cathedral.

Shirou's steps echoed on the cobblestone floor as he descended the small flight of stairs.

"The fuck do you want?" asked Henryk, not facing him.

"I need your help. And you need mine, too."

Despite their shattered relationship, he knew Henryk. Any more apologies would be seen as pandering. Shirou would have to be as straight-forward as he could and hope for the best.

Henryk remained sat, his jaw clenched, as if prohibiting himself from talking. Even so, he began, words terse. "You know, the Crow told me something when she passed by. Didn't even stay to give a proper explanation; just left and went about her business. Whatever you said to her, congratulations lad. You pissed off the most dangerous woman in Yharnam."

"I didn't mean to." And he hadn't expected the subject to be so sensitive to her, even if he realized the Bloody Crow was bad news. "What did she tell you?"

"Before you were a twinkle in your father's eyes, rumors flew about the Crow. That she drank people's blood, that she took her prey's head as a trophy, but they weren't the interesting ones, no. Because I know for a fact the scariest one was true."

Henryk threw a glance at him, shifting in his seat. "When she died, she didn't stay in her grave. I saw it happening once. She picked a fight with mad Izzy, and that nutjob turned the Crow's chest to paste. Bloody chunks of her all over the place, face caved in - old Izzy fought like a beast. The very next hour, the Crow was back and returned the favor."

Shirou connected the dots. "She told you about me."

Not immortal, but undying. The apex predator in all of Yharnam, so long as he could cling to his sanity. The Hunter chosen by the Dream.

But Henryk likely didn't know that yet. There wasn't enough time for the Crow to tell him that.

"Got it in one. Now I can see how a wet-behind-the-ears, fledgling hunter got the better of Gascoigne."

Shirou frowned. "It didn't happen like that."

Henryk threw his hand up. "Spare me of the bullshit. I don't give a fuck. All I care about is the mission, now. It's all I have left."

"So do I." Shirou stepped ahead. "I'll help you, Henryk. We'll get to Byrgenwerth and find the truth. I want it as much as you."

He scoffed. "Some help." His lips quirked up unpleasantly. "At least I know for a fact I can use you as a meat-shield if needs be."

"I'm ready for that." It was nothing Shirou hadn't been planning to do, anyway.

Henryk rolled his eyes. "Of course you are." He exhaled. "We'll have to watch out for kidnappers as much as the beasts. Streets are chock-full of them."

"I know, I met one. It almost found me and Arianna." A thought surged in Shirou's mind. "Did they get you last time?"

"Aye. Three of the assholes ganged up on me. Dragged me to their lair and expected me to stay put, like a good little prisoner. I didn't; it was the shittiest prison I've ever seen. They left my cell's door open and I sneaked out. None of them saw me leaving." He laughed. "They had a nasty surprise waiting for me at the end, but I used to make a living out of killing Darkbeasts. Then, I walked through that Old Yharnam hellhole and the Crow found me nearby, on my last legs, no blood vials on me."

Shirou stared at him. "...you were busy."

"Yeah. Nothing compared to what's ahead, though. We have to get up there," he said, pointing up and far away. Faintly, Shirou saw the tall, grey construction. The tolling of a bell resonated in the air, originating from the building.

"The Grand Cathedral?"

_"There, at the end of your path, you'll find a worthy foe to sharpen your fangs against. Vicar Amelia must be feeling lonely up there," said the Bloody Crow_.

"Aye. Turns out we need a password to get inside the Forbidden Woods and then Byrgenwerth. Only way to find it is tear the memory from inside of the old founder's skull. The church's minions are guarding it, so we're in for the fight of our lives."

Shirou filed the information about the founder for later. "Is there someone named Amelia guarding the Cathedral?"

Henryk gave him a long glance. "...probably. She's one of their meanest guard-dogs. How did you-?" He paused. "Eh, doesn't matter. Yeah, she's a zealot of the worst sort and happens to be good with a blade. If she tries to stop us, we go through her."

Shirou nodded. The idea didn't bother him as it would have days ago.

Relative silence fell between them. They didn't exchange words, but Yharnam was never silent. Crows cawed, distant howls rippled through the air as hunters engaged beasts and the Moon shone oppressively above him.

Urged him forward.

"I need your help for something else too, Henryk."

Henryk hummed. It was a low, terse sound. "Aren't you pushing your luck, lad?"

"I'm not asking for much." He rummaged inside his garb and snatched his Beckoning Bell from within. He had been storing the small tool for a long time.

Now, all he had to do was convince someone who hated him to give him a hand. Social skills weren't exactly a Yharnamites' priority, nor had been his. Any resemblance of society, friendship and bonds were rare in Yharnam these days. Yet, he had to give it a shot.

He still trusted the man in front of him with his life.

The old hunter looked at it. "Really?"

"You don't have to do anything. All I'll do is summon you. If it works, it works. If it doesn't..." He gave a crooked smile. "I'll look for something else."

Henryk snorted. "Fine. You wash my back, I wash yours. I can live with that." He stood up to his full height. He reached inside his garb and pulled a Resonant Bell. He rose the small, blue bell and whispered something at it. "The password is Viola. Say the word close to your bell and it'll remember it."

Shirou's hands balled into fists. "You didn't have to do that, Henryk."

"Wouldn't want you to forget their names."

Anger, bright and sizzling, burned in his gut. "I didn't forget anything!"

"Could've fooled me. You didn't even stay with my granddaughter. You left her in a room full of strangers and went on with your business."

"I made sure no one would do anything to her." His words to the dweller, harsh and sharp as a blade, floated in his thoughts. The man hadn't deserved that, even if he still thought it was necessary. "I did like you taught me. I minimized risks."

"I thought I did that too, when I left them to you. Turns out a small risk of dying can still mean fucking dying."

"It was my fault." And it had haunted his thoughts ever since. "But there's nothing we can do to change it. I'm sorry Henryk." His voice grew thick. "I really am." The fire had taught him as much. Changing the past was beyond him, but he could choose how he would move forward and give that tragedy meaning.

"Are you, though? Back there, in the tomb, I saw it. I trained you boy. I was there in the moment your eyes changed from a kid's to a killer's. I can always tell when you're about to grab your cleaver"

He nodded. There was no point in denying that. "I was.

Henryk huffed. It was tinged with his usual, sardonic humor. "That eager to finish the job, huh?"

Shirou sealed his lips shut.

"I always found it strange. Gascoigne laughed it off, but I always knew. I trained many before you. You should've seen those kids. They thought they were hot shit; that they would be the toughest hunters in town after a couple of weeks of learning how to swing their weapon. But every time, every damn time, when they saw a beast for the first time, they didn't fight. They didn't even run."

Memories came to Shirou's mind, of his first night in Yharnam. Knife-like fangs, roaring and howling, biting at his heels. Beasts everywhere, sensing him as prey. He had grabbed a loose pipe and reinforced it to its limit, and thrown it away and ran when it was ineffective.

The night Gascoigne had saved him.

Henryk glared at him. "They freeze. Like a tiny animal when you get the jump on it. They don't move when a beast came at them snarling and hungry. That was cowardly, but it was normal. I could tell you hadn't fought a day in your life. But you never froze."

Shirou mulled the words over. Henryk's mind was made; there seemed to be no right answer. He tried anyway. "I couldn't freeze. If I did, I would die."

Henryk chortled. "Just like that?" He shook his head. "...I remember the day you said that crap about being a hero. Gascoigne ruffled your hair and said you were a good kid. But for a good kid, you can be pretty fucking cold."

That was the point, wasn't it? In turning his mind into steel. Steel endured blows unchanged, withstood the trials of time and wasn't easily bent. It was the only way to fight back against this world. If he let Henryk's words get to him...

Shirou sighed. Suddenly, his thoughts were slow and tangled like threads. "I'll get out of your sight, now. I'll be back in a few hours, then we can go."

"Sure. Go be a hero, or whatever rocks your boat. Then, I can show you the real world again."

Shirou turned on his heel and walked away, throat clenched with unsaid words. He had seen the real world. It was true that being a hero of justice was incompatible with Yharnam, and even his own world.

But that didn't mean anything. Even if it was impossible, he had a promise to keep, in any way he could.

He looked back at Henryk one last time. Images of Henryk in the tomb, smoldering with rage and reaching for his weapon came back to him. He was angry, and it wasn't going away.

If Henryk went mad like Gascoigne, Shirou would have to kill him too. That was the price of this world's mercy.

Shirou returned to the chapel, sullen. He bid his goodbyes, taking special care to smile for Arabella. Even that didn't come easy. Maybe it was the result of turning his mind into steel. There wasn't energy left for anything but the mission. He also told Sakura that their dinner had to be postponed, just for a while. The lie also didn't come easy, but if she minded, she didn't show it.

He reached for the lantern, and the chapel dissolved in the darkness.

* * *

His eyes opened. The Dream's ethereal fog wafted in the air, and the Moon shone in the cloudy sky. The Doll was in her usual spot, playing with the bony-white creatures. She took notice of him and rose, the motion mechanic and awkward.

Shirou scanned his surroundings. "Hi Doll. Where's Gherman?"

"Hello, good hunter. I'm afraid Gherman has retreated to his solitude. You may find him later, when he wakes up."

"That's fine. I actually meant to talk with you."

_"Be nice to her, you hear me? She's the only one in these forsaken worlds that would never lift a finger against you, not even to defend herself," said the Crow._

He had let his apprehension of her control him for too long. She had already helped him many times; made him stronger. If there was a way to repay her, he had to find out.

"I see. What is it you desire, good hunter?

Shirou scratched his head, fighting the uncomfortable weight he always felt close to her. He wasn't good at reading people, and dolls weren't any easier, apparently.

"I don't want anything from you." He winced. "I mean, I met the Cr- Eileen. She told me to say hi."

"Is that so? The little ones and I miss her dearly. Would you like to see her grave, good hunter?"

"Uh, thanks, but no."

He barely restrained from hitting himself. This was going nowhere. "Do you want something from the waking world, Doll? There isn't much to do around here."

She bowed to him. "Thank you, but I already have all I need." The white creatures pawed at her, and she looked at them fondly. "But would you mind bringing the Little Ones a few trinkets? They've been feeling quite bored as of late."

Shirou sighed in relief. "I can do that. I'll bring them...books?" he tried.

"Hats. They love hats. And hair ornaments, too."

Shirou's eyebrows rose. Weren't they all bald? "Alright, hats and hair ornaments. Anything else?"

"No, that'll be all. Thank you kindly, good hunter." She assessed him. "You seem tired," she said.

Shirou chuckled. It sounded hollow. "Yeah, I really am." He rolled his shoulders. "Nothing I can do about it, though. We hunters are never out of work."

And it scared him that they might never be.

"That is true." She tilted her head. "Would you like to rest? There is a special place in the dream for hunters who long for rest."

Shirou was about to deny it when he felt cold skin brushing against his hand. Eyes wide, he looked at the Doll, who had grasped it with her own. Her unnatural, glassy eyes, shone with human-like joy.

"Come with me."

Dumbfounded, he let her guide him. They walked the cobblestone path barricaded by the dozens of graves and the fields of flowers. The dream didn't have Yharnam's haunting beauty to it, but it had a peaceful atmosphere. He could easily imagine it; devoid of graves and filled with the living, a workshop for hunters to improve their craft and interact with each other.

She stopped in front of a strange tombstone. Whereas the others were grey and adorned by candles, the one ahead of them was painted in a beautiful gold. It was decorated with sea-blue enamel lines, shining like the sun among its neighbors.

He had seen this tombstone when he first got here, hadn't it? The golden dot that stood out from the monochrome graves.

Something thrummed inside him, a wave of magic that washed over him like heartbeats. His eyes burned, as if boiling inside, and he brushed his hands on it. "What is this?" he asked, voice reverent.

"A gateway, to a place of rest for your weary spirits," she said, and the Doll sounded equally admiring. "A long time ago, a sorcerer who dwells in dreams brought it close to this Hunter's Dream. Ever since, hunters have used it as a safe-haven. They took to calling it the Hunter's Paradise. It's very beautiful, or so I was told."

"You never went there?"

"No, but the hunters always returned happier and lighter." She smiled. "Nothing could make me happier. And the person that calls the Paradise home often visits us. She and Gherman are very fond of each other."

It sounded too good to be true. "Why they didn't stay there, then? Why go back to the hunt?"

The light of her eyes dimmed. "I couldn't say, good hunter. I can only guess that the blood calls to their souls more fiercely than the soothing tranquility of those gardens."

Shirou took his hand away from the tombstone, his marvel wafting away like a distant dream. "...that's a shame." He forced a smile. "I'll make sure to visit it one of these days. Thank you for showing this to me."

She made a small curtsy. "You are welcome, good hunter. May you find your worth in the waking world."

With that, she strolled back to her usual spot, body utterly still like a machine. In times like these, he couldn't deny she wasn't human.

But those smiles and that joy were real. She did care, like the Crow had said. About him, the other hunters and the little creatures.

Despite what was coming, his heart felt a bit lighter when he was back in his shed, whisked away by the Dream's tombstone. Pipes, tools and old man Raiga's bike were laying about in the cramped walls. Still clad in his Hunter's garb, he plucked the Beckoning Bell from it. He whispered the name of the woman he failed at it.

Soon, morning would rise in Fuyuki. The last he would see for a long time.

He waved his hand and the bell chimed. Pulses of arcane energy filled his shed, and the call for other worlds was made. Shirou let his back slide on the cold wall and sat on the floor, waiting. The pulses thrummed on and on, slow and hypnotic, turning his eyes heavy, lulling him to sleep. He had been tired, hadn't he?

Hours later, he woke up with a jolt. Rays of sunshine fell gently on the room, bathing it with their warmth.

But they weren't enough to abate the terrible premonition that shook him awake. The cold, viscous sensation, as if someone had stepped on his grave, coming from his bell.

* * *

**Oof, finally. This is it, guys. As I had promised, the next chapter will feature Gil and Kotomine and actually introduce the villain for the next Arc. Plenty of foreshadowing going on here, if you picked it up.**

**Hoped you guys liked this!**


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